


"Sorry, Aunt Petunia"

by Emily_Elizabeth_Fowl, sparklygems



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus Dumbledore Bashing, EDIT CH2, Gen, Mentor Severus Snape, [why is there a tag for Draco's owl????], for some reason i really don't like Dumb Le Dork, holy shit!! i can't believe such a positive response!!, ill add more people when/if they'll appear, sorta - Freeform, thank you all <3, when he stops being a dick due to his misconceptions, you'll see it a lot in my fics when i start posting more hp
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2019-10-12 22:42:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17476328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emily_Elizabeth_Fowl/pseuds/Emily_Elizabeth_Fowl, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparklygems/pseuds/sparklygems
Summary: There was not a thing that could have hinted at the catastrophe before it happened.If you went around in the morning and asked anyone what was going to happen, answers may have varied, but none of them would even come close to the actual event.Although, to be fair, if you made a round in the evening, the vast majority of the castle would give you perhaps different, yet still incorrect answers.There were only two people who knewexactlywhat happened.And they weren’t going to tell.***Or, in other words, Harry accidentally says "Sorry, Aunt Petunia," toSnapeof all people.Chaos ensues.





	1. CHAPTER 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work was betaed by the lovely @sparklygems, for which I'm endlessly gratuitous!

Harry had a hard time getting used to sleeping in his new bed.  
  
The softness of it was off-putting, making him feel like he was going to drown any second. He even tried sleeping on the floor, which made sleep an option for a little bit.  
  
But then Ron woke him up, under the impression that he'd fallen off instead of leaving it voluntarily, and he had to spend the rest of the night tossing and turning on the unnatural surface.  
  
This resulted in him being barely able to keep his eyes open in the morning which was considerably Not Good.  
  
On the positive side, it was Friday already: one more day till the weekend, which he could spend looking for a solution.  
  
On the more negative side, the first lesson was going to be Potions, and Merlin knew he was going to need every ounce of alertness for that, if even a fraction of what the older students said was true.  
  
Everyone was saying that Professor Snape was strict, but there were still two possible variants. Either he was the Lawful Strict sort and was going to treat everyone equally strict, or he was a Petty Strict, and would inevitably choose Harry as his target.  
  
Hearing what was said about his preferential treatment towards Slytherin and unexplained hate towards Gryffindor, Harry was leaning towards the second option.  
  
Breakfast passed in relative silence, Ron too busy stuffing his mouth, for which Harry was thankful. At least he had some time to try and attempt to appear vigilant.  
  
Hedwig swooped down mid-breakfast, dropping off a note, which turned out to be from Hagrid, inviting him for tea that afternoon.  
  
Sparing half a thought on how the man had sent him a note with his own owl, he scrawled an answer on the back of the note and sent it back.  
  
The Potions class - a double lesson with the Slytherins - took place in the dungeons, not far from the Great Hall.  
  
It was considerably colder though which somehow helped with staying awake. The walls of the classroom, lined with all sorts of pickled specimens in glass jars, held his attention quite well, too.  
  
He barely had the time to take out his textbook and quill before Professor Snape swooped inside, his cloak billowing after him as if he’d ran the entire distance between the classroom and wherever he had been before that.  
  
Similarly to Professor Flitwick, he started the lesson with a roll-call.  
  
And just like the tiny man had done, he paused just before Harry’s name.  
  
“Ahh, yes,” he drawled, “Harry Potter. Our new...celebrity.”  
  
Malfoy and his cronies sniggered at that. Harry had a bad feeling about it.  
  
“Present, sir,” he still said, hunched over the desk.  
  
Professor Snape scoffed slightly, continuing with the roll call.  
  
He looked up at the classroom once he was done. _Perfect_ , Harry thought. He looked like he was going to give a speech.  
  
Harry readied his quill. At least noting what he said would keep him awake. Hopefully.  
  
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making,” Professor Snape began, his voice barely more than a whisper, yet still clearly heard. Was it magic or dungeon acoustics? Who knew. “As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses...I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death; if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."  
  
Harry noted everything down dutifully, happy it was helping him stay alert.  
  
“Mister Potter!” Uh oh. “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”  
  
What kind of a question was that? This was the first lesson! If they were expected to read ahead, why had no one said so?  
  
“I…don’t know, sir,” he said, hoping that that would be all.  
  
Honestly, he should’ve known better.  
  
“Tut, tut.” Professor Snape sneered at him. When did he move so close? “Fame clearly isn’t everything.”  
  
Whoever said it was? He didn’t even know he was famous until a month ago! At least the anger livened him up a little.  
  
“Let’s try again, Mister Potter.” the glint in Professor Snape’s eyes was downright diabolical. “Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?”  
  
Harry remembered hearing about it somewhere, or maybe he read it in one of the books? Something about swallowed hair…  
  
“In a stomach, sir?” he tried.  
  
“ _Whose_ stomach,” the professor nearly growled.  
  
“I don’t know, sir.” Maybe it would be better if he just gave the man what he wanted and stopped even trying?  
  
“Last one, Mister Potter. What’s the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”  
  
Harry had no idea, but got alert enough to notice the standing - nearly jumping - Hermione and her outstretched arm: she must’ve been at it since the first question!  
  
“I don’t know, sir,” he said. “I think Hermione does, though.”  
  
A few people laughed but only the Gryffindors. That didn’t spell anything good.  
  
“Sit down, Miss Granger,” Professor Snape snarled, and Harry realized he had just upped his difficulty level for interactions with the man for the next seven years. “For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the ‘Draught of Living Death.’ A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat, and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant which also goes by the name of aconite.”  
  
Turning around, Professor Snape stalked back to the front of the class.  
  
“Well?” he called out when nobody dared to move a muscle. “Why aren't you all copying that down?"  
  
The classroom filled with the sound of quills scratching on paper. Harry bent down to write again.  
  
“And a point will be taken from Gryffindor for your cheek, Mister Potter.”  
  
Aww, heck. He didn’t think he could count on any improvement anytime soon.  
  
They got divided into pairs based on some random factor Harry couldn’t really identify, but he was still thankful because it landed him with Hermione.  
  
And if he had learned anything in the past week, it was that Hermione _always_ knew the correct answer.  
  
They would manage to brew the “simple potion to cure boils” despite Harry currently being half zombie.  
  
The next half an hour passed for him in a weird state of borderline deliriousness. Harry felt kind of like he was back in the kitchen, dicing, cutting, and crushing various ingredients.  
  
Professor Snape said to follow the recipe on the board, but Harry couldn’t really see all the way to the front. He figured the recipe in the textbook would be exactly the same, deciding to follow it instead.  
  
He was just going to add dried nettles when somebody clutched his arm, stopping him in his tracks.  
  
“Boy! What are you doing?” someone hissed, and in a moment of confusion, Harry thought he was back on Privet Drive.  
  
“Sorry, Aunt Petunia,” he said on auto-pilot, before realizing his mistake.  
  
The hand on his arm tightened slightly. He hunched down further, attempting to save the situation with submissive behaviour.  
  
“ _What_ did you just say?” Professor Snape drawled. It might have seemed neutral, but Harry could hear that he was seething with anger.  
  
Well. It was fun to stay at Hogwarts for an entire week.  
  
“I’m sorry, sir, I just-” he attempted to explain, but Snape didn’t let him.  
  
“Did you mean ‘Petunia,’ as in, _’Petunia Evans’_?”  
  
“Umm,” Harry knew that that was some sort of trick question. He had no idea where the trick was, though. “No, sir. I don’t know anyone named Evans.”  
  
Professor Snape let go of his arm, straightening up. Harry thought he was in the clear until he saw the absolute rage on his face.  
  
The classroom was silent.  
  
Too silent.  
  
Harry looked around, surprised to see the shocked expressions on everyone’s faces.  
  
“I’m sorry, is that someone important?” he asked, blinking, his brows furrowed.  
  
“Potter,” Malfoy said, the smug expression gone from his face, exchanged for something uncomfortably close to pity, “your mother’s maiden name was Evans.”  
  
“Oh.” Well, that was awkward. He turned back to the professor. “In that case, Aunt Petunia must be the same person you asked about. She goes by Dursley now, though.”  
  
Professor Snape looked like he’d just eaten a toad or something.  
  
Waving his wand, he made all of their potions disappear.  
  
“Class dismissed,” he said. “Mister Potter, stay behind.”  
  
That was most definitely _not good_.  
  
The class cleared out quickly, no one wanting to stay even in the general vicinity of an angry Professor Snape. Ron hesitated at the door, but one look from the man got him scrambling to leave.  
  
“Mister Potter.” Professor Snape turned back to him, but that seemed to be the end of his resolve.  
  
Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose.  
  
“I do not even know where to begin,” he said, his eyes closed. “For the first time, I hope I am wrong. I last saw Petunia years ago, so let me ask you this: are you happy in her household?”  
  
Was Harry a little less reserved, he would have snorted. Happy? Yeah, _sure_.  
  
But this was getting too dangerous for his tastes, and getting into trouble with both the school and the Dursleys was the last thing he wanted.  
  
“I am grateful that they took me in and provided me with clothing and food, sir,” he said with practiced ease. Sure, all he got were rags and scraps, but it was better than nothing. And honesty was always a nice touch.  
  
Professor Snape narrowed his eyes.  
  
It seemed Harry needed to work a bit harder to dismiss his suspicions.  
  
“Let me ask something else then,” he said. Harry didn’t dare relax. “Why were you adding nettles to your potion?”  
  
Oh, something easy. “That’s what the textbook said, sir.”  
  
“I _told_ you to use the recipe from the blackboard.”  
  
_Why would the recipes be different?!_ Harry thought. That was completely ridiculous.  
  
“I can’t see the blackboard, sir,” he said instead. “I thought the textbook would have the same recipe.”  
  
“When was the last time you went to an optometrist?” Professor Snape folded his arms.  
  
Harry scrunched up his forehead. “Opto-what?”  
  
“Where did you get your glasses?”  
  
“Aunt Petunia brought them home one day when the teachers complained that I couldn’t see the blackboard even from the front row,” Harry offered helpfully. That was a good thing, right? Normal?  
  
Seeing Professor Snape’s brows climbing up his forehead told him it was not, in fact, a good thing.  
  
“In that case,” he started in a tone Harry didn’t like at all, “we will go to Madam Pomfrey and get you a checkup.”  
  
Oh no. A checkup was not something Harry could get without revealing the worst parts of his home life.  
  
“Is this really necessary, sir?” he asked, trying for the “rational adult” tone that Aunt Petunia always used. “I’m sure you’ve got a lot of stuff to do. I can just swing by the Hospital Wing after classes.”  
  
“And am I to believe you will do so?”  
  
Great, a Smart Adult, just what Harry needed right now.  
  
“Mister Potter,” Professor Snape crouched next to him, “we can help you. We can keep you safe.”  
  
“That’s what they always say,” Harry grumbled, unable to keep his frustrations bottled up anymore, “and then they meet Aunt Petunia and suddenly I’m an ungrateful, spoiled child, they treat me like a liar at school, and then I have to spend a full week in my cupboard.”  
  
“A cupboard, Mister Potter?” the man repeated. “She puts you in a bloody cupboard?”  
  
“Well, yeah.” shrugging, Harry started wondering when he could leave. There was still a bit of the lesson’s time left, so maybe the professor would lose interest before then. “Dudley needed a room for his toys, and freaks don’t deserve nice things.”  
  
Professor Snape looked as if he was just told that cauldrons could fly on their own.  
  
“Oh, Merlin,” he whispered. Standing up, he whooshed to the other side of the room. “‘ _Spoiled rotten_ ,’ he said, ‘ _treated like a prince_ ,’ he said. Even house elves aren’t treated like that!”  
  
Uh-oh, angry adult. Step one, try to leave the danger zone. Maybe he would forget before the next lesson.  
  
Slipping out of the chair, he picked up his bag and took his book from the desk but decided not to risk getting the parchment and quill too.  
  
He was halfway to the door when Professor Snape caught him.  
  
“Where are you going, Mister Potter?” he demanded. Harry turned around, alarmed, staring straight into the man’s eyes. “I don’t believe you were dismissed.”  
  
Oh, right, this was school.  
  
Then realization dawned into his eyes. Realization of _what_ , exactly, Harry had no idea.  
  
“Mister Potter,” Professor Snape began. “Harry. Sit down.”  
  
So far, no one had called him "Harry" in anger yet. Was that good or bad?  
  
Deciding it was better to follow the directions, he walked back to his seat.  
  
Professor Snape took a stool from the row in front of Harry and sat down on the other side of his table.  
  
“I am not angry,” he said.  
  
That was a lie.  
  
“Well, I am not angry _at you_ ,” the man added with a roll of his eyes. “I should have said that earlier. I apologize for that.”  
  
Harry hadn’t seen apologies be used as a technique to get him to admit to doing something wrong yet, but he wasn’t going to fall for it.  
  
“I also apologize for my earlier behaviour,” Professor Snape added. “I was operating under… incorrect assumptions.”  
  
That was very unusual. Unusual was nothing good in a situation like this.  
  
“I knew your aunt when we were children,” the man added. Oh? “She was in no way fit to take care of children back then, and I do not believe she’s changed much.”  
  
That was it. If Harry nodded to that, the man would tell his aunt, and then he would be in _big_ trouble.  
  
“Aunt Petunia is a very good mother and aunt,” he said. That was the furthest thing from the truth he’d ever said, but sacrifices needed to be made.  
  
Professor Snape looked very sad for some reason.  
  
“Child,” he sighed, “you are under the impression that I am on your aunt’s side. I am not.”  
  
There was nothing Harry could say to that.  
  
“I do not know why you were placed in her care,” the man continued. “In fact, I am certain that in her will, Lily listed her and her walrus of a husband as people she did _not_ want you to go to. Once I find out what happened, I will make sure you will never return there.”  
  
Suuuure. Just like what the other three people who had managed to figure out something was amiss had said.  
  
“You don’t believe me.” Professor Snape noted. “Understandable. You have heard that before, and yet no one has done anything about it, have they?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Do you know what an Oath on Magic is?"  
  
“No, sir."  
  
“Taking an Oath on Magic means that if the taker was to break it, they would lose their magic," Professor Snape explained. “Can you recognize the significance of that?"  
  
Harry could only nod. He would never take an oath like that if he didn't fully mean it!  
  
“I, Severus Tobias Snape, solemnly swear that I will do everything in my power to ensure that Harry James Potter will never return to the Dursleys’ household, nor will I allow him to be placed in another abusive home. Furthermore, I will do everything in my power to ensure that he will have the remaining part of his childhood in conditions appropriate for a child. So mote it be."  
  
Harry might've had some idea of how serious the Oath was when the professor had explained it, but only feeling the swirl of magic settling around the man did he realize that there was no way for Professor Snape to change his mind.  
  
He truly was on Harry's side.  
  
“I never knew my middle name was ‘James,’” Harry offered, feeling the tears rolling down his cheeks.  
  
And while Professor Snape had no idea how to react to that or how to calm him down, he was at least _trying_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'd like to see Minerva McAwesome chew out Dumb Le Dork, and Snape being an Actual Human Being, make sure to leave a comment!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McG and Snape go chew out Dumb Le Dork. Some plans are being created.

“Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, how dare you!” Professor McGonagall hollered as she strode into the office, Professor Snape in tow.  
  
Harry initially wasn’t too happy when Professor Snape had said that they would need to inform her, but now, brought along to see her verbally chew out the person responsible for his placement at the Dursleys’, he was quite content.  
  
But Dumbledore didn’t look concerned. And that made _Harry_ feel concerned.  
  
“What seems to be the problem, Minerva?” he asked jovially with a unnatural twinkle in his eyes.  
  
“You said that you were keeping an eye on him!” she screeched, motioning vaguely in Harry’s direction. “You said that he was being treated properly!”  
  
“Harry is standing here alive and with a healthy outlook on life,” Dumbledore said, finally putting away his quill. “I don’t see anything wrong.”  
  
In that moment, Harry knew he had already lost. He had let himself feel hope when Professor Snape, Professor McGonagall, and even Madam Pomfrey had expressed concern about his well being.  
  
But in the end, the decision would fall to the headmaster.  
  
And he didn’t seem to think that there was anything amiss.  
  
“‘ _Healthy outlook on life_ ’?! What is that supposed to mean?!” Professor McGonagall looked like his primary school’s librarian did when she’d seen the fire Dudley had made in the library, using books as kindling.  
  
The fault, obviously, fell on Harry.  
  
“Harry was brought up to be a humble, friendly boy,” Dumbledore explained. “That’s all I could’ve asked for.”  
  
“Albus, he was kept in a cupboard,” Professor Snape said quietly, as if keeping his voice low was the only way he could restrain himself from violently attacking the headmaster. “That’s not really the best environment for a child.”  
  
Dumbledore’s shoulders froze mid-shrug, as if realizing halfway through the movement that it wasn’t really the best thing to do.  
  
“What was done is done,” he said, finally. “We can’t change the past; we can only move forward.”  
  
“So you agree that Harry should not go back there anymore?” Professor Snape asked.  
  
“Don’t be absurd, Severus.” He made a sound that sounded dangerously close to a snort. “Of course he’s going back there, it is crucial that he does.”  
  
“Crucial?” Professor McGonagall wore the look of cold fury that Aunt Petunia reserved for the rare times when Harry misbehaved in public. “How is sending him back to an abusive household _crucial_?  
  
“Crucial for what, exactly?” Professor Snape’s voice was still quiet but even more lethal. “Albus? _What_ are you planning?”  
  
Dumbledore looked ready to evade the answer.  
  
“Perhaps Harry should be taken to bed…” he suggested. “It is, after all, late…”  
  
Professor McGonagall pointed a finger at him. “This is not the end of this discussion! You _will_ answer me, as soon as I take Harry to the common room!”  
  
Taking hold of Harry’s arm, she led him out of the room and down the moving stairs.  
  
He was pretty sure that that was, in fact, the end of the discussion.  
  
***  
  
“What are you doing, Severus?” Dumbledore asked as soon as they were alone.  
  
“Fulfilling my promise, as far as I’m concerned,” Severus said dryly. “You did make me swear to protect the boy. Or have you forgotten?”  
  
“The boy is safest at the Dursleys’.” All traces of the twinkly look had disappeared from the headmaster’s eyes. “Do not question my judgement.”  
  
“Safest? Poppy said that his scan was the longest she’s ever seen; second only to Lupin’s after a dozen years of werewolf transformations!”  
  
Dumbledore sighed heavily, standing up. Severus took a step back, old instincts acting up.  
  
But the headmaster was more interested in a shelf filled with various gizmos than his potions professor.  
  
“He’s a piece in a game bigger than just us, Severus. The fate of the entire wizarding world lies on his shoulders.”  
  
Severus remained speechless for a moment.  
  
“He’s _eleven_!”  
  
“And he vanquished Voldemort when he was one.” Dumbledore finally turned around. “He’s our only hope. You of all people should know it.”  
  
Well, that was unnecessarily harsh.  
  
“There is still time,” he argued.  
  
The headmaster sighed again. “Less than we hope.”  
  
“Headmaster?”  
  
But the man said no more.  
  
“But why Petunia?” Severus wasn’t going to leave with no answers.  
  
“Blood magic is powerful.” Dumbledore turned around, his face set in an unnaturally determined expression. “More powerful than any curse.”  
  
Severus’s mental cursing got interrupted by Minerva storming into the room, looking marginally calmer than the last time she did so.  
  
“What did I miss?” she asked, false calmness ringing in her voice.  
  
“Blood magic bullshit,” Severus answered promptly, before the headmaster could spin it in his favour.  
  
“Now, now, Severus-” The headmaster still tried, but Minerva was _not_ having it.  
  
“ _What_ could _possibly_ be so bad,” she spat through clenched teeth, “that you are willing to leave the boy in a mentally and physically abusive household?!”  
  
Dumbledore lost all pretense of a kind grandfatherly figure. “Voldemort.”  
  
Severus grimaced slightly, restraining himself from clutching on his arm. Stupid, built-in respect-o’meter.  
  
“You _just_ said Harry destroyed him that Halloween night!” he said.  
  
“I said _vanquish-_ ”  
  
“Do you honestly believe he could still be around?” Minerva said quietly.  
  
Dumbledore seemed to think that that meant she'd turned to his side, that old coot.  
  
“I _know_ it,” he said gravely. “I have reasons to believe Voldemort had taken steps to ensure a state extremely close to immortality. Even complete destruction of his body wouldn’t kill him at the moment.”  
  
Minerva blanched, swaying slightly.  
  
Severus just sighed. Having the Dark Mark still on his arm kind of spoiled his surprise.  
  
“If the boy has to defeat the Dark Lord, wouldn’t it be better if he was sent somewhere to train?” He argued. “Somewhere he wasn’t beaten and starved? Somewhere he could gather strength so that he would be able to stand against Him?”  
  
Dumbledore turned towards the shelf, hiding his face. “It is not strength he needs, but compassion. The will to do what needs to be done for the Wizarding World.”  
  
Minerva inhaled sharply, drawing Severus’s attention. “Albus, he’s _eleven_!”  
  
“And has already been marked by the Dark Lord as his equal.”  
  
“So what?! He still deserves to have a loving family!”  
  
Dumbledore sighed, deflating like a punctured balloon. “Having a loving family is something that gives people strength to survive. That’s not necessary to defeat Voldemort.”  
  
“Then what is?” Severus sneered. “The willingness to die?”  
  
The silence was all the answer they needed.  
  
“Merlin.” Minerva transfigured a chair as she fell, the heavy cushions barely managing to catch her. “You want him to die.”  
  
“That is the only way-”  
  
“Like a pig for slaughter.” Severus grimaced, staring at the back of Dumbledore’s head. “Quoting someone who has long since stopped being the wise man we all thought he was, _you disgust me_.”  
  
And with a swish of his robes, he left the room.  
  
Dumbledore wasn’t going to be of any use.  
  
The headmaster finally turned around, a calculating look in his eyes as he gazed at the closing door. Softening his gaze, he looked at Minerva.  
  
“Minerva, surely you understand-”  
  
The professor cursed him with boils in places where the sun didn’t reach on her way out.  
  
***  
  
That night, Severus Snape spent hours going through every legal book stored in Hogwarts. And if there were some manuals on child-rising between those, well, who would tell?  
  
He wasn’t going to let another boy end up like he did. He had sworn two oaths: it was time he upheld them.  
  
***  
  
That night, Minerva McGonagall sat by the fire with a bottle of the strongest scotch she owned, thinking about the past, present, and future. Regretting never checking up on the boy, regretting agreeing to Albus’s plan in the first place.  
  
But she knew now. And she was going to do everything in her power to make up for it.  
  
***  
  
That night, Harry Potter slept comfortably in a bed transfigured by Professor McGonagall to be perfectly firm. For the first time he could remember, nothing hurt or ached.  
  
And even if he was going back to the Dursleys for the summer, he still had ten months of comfort to enjoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to be clear, this appeared so fast because 1. i had some of it written already, 2. it's short, 3. it's weekend so i had time and last but not least 4. the lovely comments!! they were extremely motivational ^^
> 
> I have a basic idea on how to develop this - with a nice, unexpected surprise coming up! - but i highly appreciate any suggestions being made. Even if they don't appear in the letter, I do my best to include them in the spirit ^^
> 
> Big thanks to everyone who read, commented, kudoed or bookmarked - I see you, and I love you all <3


	3. CHAPTER 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry decides that teachers are the greatest source of information on his parents. 
> 
> Well, it turns out it _is_ in the immediate next, aka this, chapter, @Sakemori xD The involvement has begun, now only to develop it ^^

“Merlin, mate, you alright?” Ron offered him instead of his usual greeting the next morning. “No one’s seen you since Snape held you back! We were all so worried he murdered you! You weren’t even at dinner!”  
  
“I ate in the Hospital Wing,” Harry said before his brain had fully woken up, regretting it almost immediately.  
  
“ _He sent you to the Hospital Wing?!_ ” Neville butted in with a whisper-scream, his mind clearly running straight to the blackest scenario in which he was next.  
  
“He just ordered me to go for a checkup.” Harry tried to salvage the situation. “He didn’t like how scrawny I looked.”  
  
“Can’t believe I’m agreeing with the git, but you _are_ kinda scrawny,” Seamus said with his back to Harry as he changed his shirt.  
  
“Yeah,” Ron nodded, “my mum would freak out and try to feed you something immediately if she saw you.”  
  
At any point before coming to Hogwarts, Harry would have immediately taken her up on that offer. But now, the chances of that happening were low: Dumbledore clearly wasn’t going to let him leave the Dursleys’.  
  
“So, what’re your plans for today?” Dean asked, utilizing the lull in conversation. “I think I’m going to go chill at the Great Lake.”  
  
“I was going to try and find the kitchens!” Ron said. “Twins always bragged that they found them in their first year, I wanna beat their record.”  
  
“Oh, crap!” Harry face-palmed. “I completely forgot about the tea with Hagrid yesterday! I’ve gotta go apologize to him!”  
  
Not waiting for any response, he grabbed a change of clothes and ran to the bathroom.  
  
“Have you noticed that he never really changes out in the open?” Seamus pointed out. “Ya think he’s ashamed of his scrawniness?”  
  
“I think it might be more than scrawniness.” Neville stared at his bed sheet, Charms textbook clutched in his hands.  
  
“What do you mean?” Dean looked up from tying his shoes.  
  
But Neville had already made a decision, and that decision was to stop talking and leave the room.  
  
A moment later, Harry left the bathroom, but he simply threw his clothes onto the bed and ran out of the dormitory, ignoring the boys’ calls.  
  
“I just hope he’s alright,” Ron said, to the murmurs of agreement from the other couple.  
  
***  
  
Harry ran the entire way to Hagrid’s hut.  
  
Only when knocking on the door did he realize that he had no plan for what to say.  
  
“Down, Fang!” sounded from behind the door, and then it swung open, revealing the overwhelming form of Hagrid. “Hullo, Harry.”  
  
“Hi!” Harry breathed out, still trying to catch his breath. “I’m so sorry I didn’t come yesterday! Professor Snape kept me after class, and then he took me to Madam Pomfrey, and-”  
  
“It’s okay, Harry.” Hagrid smiled at him gently. “I’m happy you’re here now. Wanna step in for a cuppa?”  
  
“Sure!”  
  
The inside of Hagrid’s hut looked just as home-y as the outside suggested.  
  
Motioning for the boy to sit at the table, Hagrid bustled around, preparing the tea.  
  
Harry had to sit on his hands just to stop himself from going over and trying to do the preparations for the man.  
  
The rock cakes kind of reminded him of the cakes Mrs. Figg had always served him: opposite in consistency, as the name suggested, but equally inedible.  
  
Harry still pretended to enjoy them.  
  
“How’re the classes?” Hagrid asked, sitting down with two cups of tea.  
  
And so Harry told him about the classes he’d had so far, stopping briefly before recounting Potions.  
  
How much was he going to say? How much _could_ he say?  
  
“Ah, Professor Snape givin’ you trouble?” Hagrid guessed at the pause. “Well, you do look just like yer father, and I can’t say that the two of them ever liked each other.”  
  
That remark ensured that Harry was now completely distracted from their previous topic.  
  
“Can you tell me more about my father?” he asked, putting on his best puppy eyes. “And my mother?”  
  
Hagrid scratched at his beard sheepishly. “Can’t tell ya much about yer mother, ‘m afraid. Never knew her all that well.”  
  
“Did you know my father, then?”  
  
“As much as I know the Weasley Twins.” The man grinned wildly. “Yer father and the three others were inseparable in school, they were like one entity, I’m telling ya! Marauders, they called themselves.”  
  
“Three others?” Harry wished he had some paper on him, but for now he needed to trust his memory.  
  
“Yeah! Remus Lupin - the most sensible of the bunch! - Peter Pettigrew, that poor dear, and-” His face darkened, and he quite literally spat out the last name. “Sirius Black. That traitor…”  
  
Hagrid started mumbling under his breath. Harry couldn’t quite understand what was he saying, but it sounded bad.  
  
_Time to retreat,_ he thought.  
  
Thanking him for the tea and cakes, he excused himself with homework and left as quickly as was possible without seeming rude.  
  
Well, that was a disaster. But at least it gave him an idea: if Hagrid knew his parents when they were at school, maybe other teachers would have something more to say about them?  
  
Spotting Professor Sprout near one of the greenhouses, he decided that there was no better time than the present.  
  
“Professor Sprout!” he shouted as soon as he came close enough to be heard. “Do you have a moment?”  
  
Professor Sprout raised her head. “Oh, Harry!” she said, wiping her hands on her work apron. “Sure! Have you got some questions?”  
  
“Yeah,” Harry shuffled on his feet, but he didn’t have a backup Herbology question, “though not about the plants.”  
  
“Oh?” The woman looked at him curiously. “What is it about, then?”  
  
“My parents,” he said, dropping his head shyly. “I was wondering if maybe you could tell me something about them?”  
  
Professor Sprout seemed really surprised about the request.  
  
“Oh, sure!” she said eventually. “Come in for a bit, I was just about to take a break!”  
  
The fruits she offered him for a snack were good. What she told him about his parents was even _better_.  
  
“Your father, James, he was one of the biggest pranksters I’ve ever seen.” Professor Sprout began as they sat at her desk on those uncomfortable tiny stools they always used during the lessons. “The Weasley Twins come the closest to him so far, but they’re still nothing compared to the original Marauders…”  
  
She told Harry about some of the pranks she knew about, most of which happened in her greenhouses or the Great Hall.  
  
The simple changing of hair colors, making someone sprout tentacles, charming tiny birds to follow people, singing songs they liked, spiking the food to make everyone barf snails…  
  
“And everyone sat there barfing snails?” Harry asked, on the edge of his stool. “Even the professors?”  
  
“Well… not exactly.” Professor Sprout looked slightly uncomfortable. “It was only the Slytherins, to be frank.”  
  
“Only Slytherins?” Harry repeated. He didn’t particularly like Slytherins because of Malfoy, but that was only one person…  
  
“Gryffindors and Slytherins have never liked each other.” She shrugged. “That whole _house rivalry_ of theirs. I think your parents’ last years at school were the worst it’s ever been, but it’s not like the situation’s any better now either.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“But enough about that!” Professor Sprout said. “Sadly, I can’t really tell you much about your mother. She was good at Herbology, had a natural way with plants: what else could you expect from a ‘Lily’? Very quiet girl though, and she always sat with S-" She cleared her throat. "That one Slytherin boy.”  
  
Harry knew a dismissal when he heard one. It was time to leave.  
  
“Thank you, Professor Sprout!” he said, jumping off the stool.  
  
Leaving the greenhouse, he wondered who he should visit next.  
  
Professor McGonagall was out of the question; if he went to her now, she would only feel the need to explain why it was necessary for him to go back to the Dursleys at the end of the year because Dumbledore surely had managed to convince her by now.  
  
So no, no Professor McGonagall. No Professor Snape either, for that matter. For the exact same reasons.  
  
That left… Professor Sinistra, Professor Flitwick, Professor Binns, and Professor Quirrell. And all of those other teachers he sometimes saw at the head table but had no idea who they were.  
  
Harry decided to start with Binns, mostly because he knew the ghost would still be in the classroom.  
  
His stomach grumbled as he entered the castle. Fortunately for him, breakfast was still being served.  
  
Not wanting to waste any time, he ran into the Great Hall, sat at the nearest table, devoured some food he wasn’t quite able to identify, and left again before anyone could react.  
  
His predictions were true: Professor Binns _was_ still in the classroom. From the looks of it, he might have never left.  
  
He was also lecturing about goblin wars.  
  
Harry assumed that some unfortunate older years had a Saturday history lesson, but when he turned, the classroom was completely empty.  
  
“Umm…” He closed the door behind himself, walking towards the desk. “Professor Binns?”  
  
But Binns didn’t react. Sitting down at one of the desks, Harry decided to just wait until he stopped lecturing.  
  
Since he had nothing better to do, the lecture actually even sounded pretty interesting.  
  
A few minutes later, however, Professor Binns stopped - at a point where Harry would argue to have been the best part! - and cleared his throat.  
  
“Any questions?” he asked, not even bothering to open his eyes.  
  
“I have one, sir!” Harry said quickly, not willing to lose the chance.  
  
Professor Binns blinked lazily, focusing his eyes on Harry.  
  
“Oh, Mister Potter,” he said. “What is your question?”  
  
“Could you tell me about Lily and James Potter?”  
  
The ghost stared at him for a moment.  
  
And then stared some more.  
  
“Is this one of your pranks, Mister Potter?” he finally asked, tilting his head a bit. “Shall I expect Mister Black to jump out of the shadows and cover me in glitter any moment now?”  
  
Harry didn’t quite know what to say.  
  
“Umm, could you tell me something about just Lily Evans, then?”  
  
Professor Binns frowned heavily. “Young man, you know I do not approve of your... _obsession_ with Miss Evans. She is an excellent student, and she should be free to spend time with her academic equals, not have to be constantly assaulted by a group of pranksters!”  
  
Well, that only raised more questions.  
  
“Yes, sir!” Harry said, getting up, turning on his heel, and walking out of the classroom.  
  
Closing the door, he could see Binns gradually reverting back to his unemotional self and picking up his lecturing right where he’d left it.  
  
Shrugging, Harry decided to go find another teacher. He did, obviously, prefer to avoid Professor Quirrell - he’d gotten a migraine every time he’d looked at him so far - so the only options were now Professor Sinistra or Professor Flitwick.  
  
And since he had no idea where Professor Sinistra’s offices were, well, Professor Flitwick it was, then.  
  
His office was clearly marked and easily accessible since not only did he teach Charms, he was also Ravenclaw’s Head of House.  
  
Harry didn’t even have to knock on the doors, they swung open before he could touch them.  
  
“Ah, Mister Potter!” Professor Flitwick said, raising his head from the papers he’d been working on as soon as Harry hesitantly stepped over the threshold. “Having trouble with the material?”  
  
“No…” Harry said. “Well, yes, but that’s not why I’m here, sir.”  
  
“Oh?” The teacher put down his quill, turning to face Harry. Motioning at the nearest desk, he said, “Why are you here, then?”  
  
“I was meaning to ask… could you tell me something about my parents?”  
  
Professor Flitwick brightened up, making himself more comfortable on his chair.  
  
“With pleasure! What would you like to know?”  
  
“Everything?”  
  
The man chuckled softly.  
  
“Well,” he began, “James was good at charms but only those he could use for his infamous pranks, sadly. Lily though… she was brilliant, a true prodigy! I’ve never seen such raw, natural talent!”  
  
Harry listened curiously, but it wasn’t much more than he had been told before. Everyone always talked about their studies or Marauders’ pranks, but…  
  
“What about their personalities?” he asked. “Do you know anything of their interests? What they liked to do?”  
  
“Oh,” Professor Flitwick deflated a little, “I’m afraid-”  
  
The doors swung open, revealing the billowing cloak of Professor Snape.  
  
Harry startled badly enough to fall from the chair.  
  
“Ah, Severus!” Professor Flitwick exclaimed excitedly, motioning at Harry with his hand. “Just the man we need!”  
  
Professor Snape turned to look at Harry.  
  
Harry attempted to make himself look even smaller than he already was, bracing himself for the yelling.  
  
“Mister Potter,” Professor Snape said softly, and Harry risked looking at his face to gauge the emotions: surprisingly, he didn’t look angry? Amused, even?  
  
“Pro- Professor Snape,” he managed.  
  
“Harry was just asking me about his parents!” Professor Flitwick supplied helpfully. “There’s only so much I can say, but you surely have something to share! You’ve all been in the same year, after all, and-”  
  
“Thank you, Fillius.” Professor Snape interrupted. “I shall talk with him about that at a later time. I have come to you to discuss something else. Coincidentally, it is also related to Mister Potter.”  
  
Harry stopped in his tracks. He’d been trying to sneak out as soon as Professor Snape had said he’d come with a specific purpose in mind, but now…  
  
“Sir?” he asked, looking at Professor Snape.  
  
“Sit down, Mister Potter,” the man said, his expression suddenly way more somber. “Filius, do you know how one goes about opening last wills that were locked ten years ago?”  
  
Oh. He was… he was actually doing something about Harry’s situation?  
  
Professor Flitwick stared at Professor Snape, glancing quickly between him and Harry.  
  
“If there’s reason to suspect that the will has been violated, then yes,” he said eventually. “Do you-”  
  
“I do.”  
  
“But goblins don’t tend to just take a wizard on their word, you’ll need some hard proof-”  
  
“How about medical scans indicating a decade of abuse?” Professor Snape raised a single eyebrow. “How about a Pensieve memory-showing of Lily swearing that she would never allow her Muggle sister to take care of her children, even if only temporarily?”  
  
Swaying slightly, Professor Flitwick caught onto the desk before he came into danger of falling.  
  
“Oh, sweet Merlin,” he murmured. “Muggle? That’s not what Albus said!”  
  
“The headmaster said many things that appear to be completely false.”  
  
“That’s it!” Professor Flitwick jumped off his chair, grabbing a cloak from the hanger near the door. “Do either of you have something to do that absolutely cannot wait?”  
  
“I believe we should include Minerva as well,” Professor Snape answered without giving a straight answer, which Harry started to believe was his default setting. “Seeing as she is Harry’s Head of House.”  
  
“Harry?” Professor Flitwick turned to face him. “Do you have anything important to do?”  
  
Harry shook his head. “Just homework.”  
  
Professor Snape got a weird expression on his face. Like he was trying to hold something back.  
  
“Splendid!” Professor Flitwick startled him out of his musings. “In that case, let’s go check on Minerva, and we may go!”  
  
“Go where, sir?” Harry had no idea where wills would possibly be stored. In the Ministry, maybe?  
  
“Why, to Gringotts, of course!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to find somewhat consistent updating schedule, but it may take a bit to establish. Generally, I'll be trying to put up new chapter every week ^^
> 
> Hope you liked this one! Next time - visit to Gringotts!
> 
> [[As usual: if you see any typos, logical mistakes, or have any cool ideas you'd like to share, don't forget to leave a comment!]]


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and the three professors go to Gringotts - and some of the mysteries from a decade ago finally reach the light...

Professor McGonagall seemed to think that the excursion was a splendid idea. And so, the four of them found themselves standing on the stairs of Gringotts before the clock struck noon.  
  
That was already more effort than anyone had ever made for Harry.  
  
But he didn’t let himself feel hope just yet. What if the goblins said that there was nothing in the will about him not being allowed to go to Petunia? What if the will said he was to go to his aunt? What if they weren’t allowed to see the will at all?  
  
The guards at the door certainly didn’t look very enthusiastic to see them enter.  
  
“Hello,” he said timidly, but they only glared at him harder.  
  
“Goblins don’t really like us wizards,” Professor Snape whispered to him when they passed the guards. “And with good reasons. Do not feel discouraged: they are very professional.”  
  
Harry managed to feel a little bit better.  
  
The inside of the bank was just as overwhelming as the last time he was there with people and goblins bustling on the separate sides of a long counter.  
  
Finding the shortest-looking queue, the four of them prepared themselves for a long wait, even despite the goblin’s exceptionally effective services.  
  
Harry waited patiently, used to not expressing any signs of his anxiety. It would’ve gotten him in even bigger trouble if he ever showed impatience during some of his aunt’s and uncle’s rants.  
  
Finally they reached the counter, which somehow still managed to catch Harry by surprise.  
  
“We are here to inquire about the last wills of James Potter and Lily Potter, née Evans,” Professor Flitwick said. He was unanimously chosen to speak as his parentage would place him above the humans in goblin hierarchy, just in case the goblins weren’t feeling like being nice that day.  
  
It turned out that that precaution was completely unnecessary.  
  
“Finally!” the goblin - Robok, Harry managed to read his badge - said, throwing his hands up.  
  
Waving his hand, he made a part of the counter rise up. “Follow me!”  
  
Harry was very confused. He was pretty sure that that wasn’t exactly the standard procedure.  
  
They were led to a office that looked pretty much like any Hogwarts teacher’s office, if said teacher was particularly fascinated by axes.  
  
Robok gestured at the chairs.  
  
“As is the common procedure, you will have to take a blood test to confirm that you are who you’re claiming to be,” the goblin said, handing all of them a piece of stone each. “The kind of information we are about to share with you is beyond sensitive.”  
  
The professors all used some kind of spell to prick their fingers and pressed the bleeding tips to the stone surface. Harry didn’t know that spell and he was pretty sure he wasn’t really allowed to use magic anyway.  
  
But fortunately for him, he had a scab on his hand from when he’d fallen over that morning. Picking at it, he then pressed the stone to the freshly bleeding wound.  
  
The goblin said nothing, not counting the raise of his brows, when collecting the stones and went towards a set of drawers covering the entire wall behind his desk.  
  
He murmured something that sounded like a confused “Interesting…” when checking the stones, but it seemed to be a mere curiosity rather than any sort of obstacle.  
  
Clearly the goblin was particularly well organized: in just a few short moments he turned around to face them once again, setting the thickest stack of parchment Harry had ever seen on the desk.  
  
“What is this?” Professor Snape asked, his eyebrows so high that they were completely invisible, despite his hairstyle usually allowing for a wide range in their movement. “I am fairly certain that the Potters did not have enough time to write this monstrosity as their wills.”  
  
“You are correct,” Robok said. “This is the log of every irregularity in performance of standard duties related to the vault.”  
  
“I’m hoping that they are all since the establishing of their family vault?” Professor McGonagall said, her voice sounding as if she already knew that that was not the case.  
  
“Yes,” Robok said, turning the book upside down and taking the bottom sheet of paper. “Those are all the irregularities since the seventeenth century. These,” he gestured to the remaining mammoth, “are the irregularities since the thirty-first of October, 1981.”  
  
Professor McGonagall swore something that was so atrocious that Harry didn’t even know what it meant while the other professors looked murderous.  
  
“What happened that day?” he asked, even though he had a suspicion.  
  
“Your parents’ deaths,” the goblin answered, looking at him suspiciously. “I suppose the bank records aren’t the only ones we’d find irregularities in during that time period, are they?”  
  
“No,” Professor Snape said. “There are much more.”  
  
“We suspected as much,” the goblin sighed. “But wizards tend to get terribly outraged whenever we talk about anything other than banking, so we couldn’t really do anything.”  
  
“Do we need to review the entire thing?” Professor McGonagall asked.  
  
“Goodness, no!” Robok looked honestly terrified at the prospect. “It can wait. We don’t have that kind of time right now. The wills might take a while by themselves.”  
  
“Where do you store people’s wills?” Harry asked, his curiosity getting the best of him.  
  
“Usually we have the original in the family vault and then the copies: one is sent to the ministry and another is stored in our specialized vault to prevent any chances of forgery. The copy in the ministry is read with family and closest friends or representatives present. I believe those two wills were read in the presence of,” the goblin checked some different piece of parchment, “‘A. P. W. B. Dumbledore, only.”  
  
“Why am I not surprised?” Professor Snape sighed.  
  
“So we can’t see it?” Harry asked. “Or will we have to go to the ministry? Do they keep the wills after reading them?”  
  
“They don’t,” Professor Flitwick said with a scowl. “They say it would take up ‘too much space’ like we’re not capable of expanding it! As if they don’t store every prophecy ever made!”  
  
“Oh…”  
  
“You may retrieve the copy from your family vault,” Robok said. “We don’t usually allow children access before they reach the age of maturity, but this is, I believe, one of the cases in which we can make an exception.”  
  
Robok stood up, motioning at them to follow him once again. This time Harry could see where they were going; he recognized that part of the bank from the last time they were there.  
  
The carts.  
  
Harry hoped they would be just as fun as when he rode them before.  
  
Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick took the first one as the carts for deeper-situated vaults were way smaller than the ones for transporting clients to newer ones.  
  
Something about older tunnels and safety precautions, apparently.  
  
Harry startled when Professor Snape offered him a vial of a potion, downing a similar one himself.  
  
“What’s that?” Harry asked, earning a half-smile.  
  
“Anti-nausea potion. This is going to be a long and bumpy ride.”  
  
And he was right. The ride took way more time than the last one, in Harry’s estimate. Having no watch, he couldn’t have been sure, but it definitely felt much longer.  
  
The station they ended up on was lit only by flickering torches for some reason. The shadows danced across the stone walls, crisscrossing randomly. Harry saw figures in the dark out of the corner of his eye, but every time he turned his head, they disappeared.  
  
Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were waiting for them on the platform. Once together, Robok led them through a tunnel so small that Professor McGonagall was forced to bend almost in half, and Professor Snape had to adapt some uncomfortable looking semi-crouch.  
  
The only ones unaffected were the goblin, half-goblin, and Harry.  
  
Harry, who soon became affected by something entirely different.  
  
“Is that a dragon?! How did it get in here?!”  
  
The creature visible from the opening of the tunnel was, indeed, a dragon. A majestic creature with scales so bright it seemed they shone in the darkness of the cave. Harry could see its paws, tail, and parts of its torso, all of them encompassed in golden chains.  
  
The dragon appeared to be sleeping with its tail towards the group, and Harry hoped it would remain sleeping for the entirety of their trip.  
  
“Yeah,” Robok said. It took Harry a moment to remember that he’d asked a question. “We bought her off the black market; she was blinded by the _training_ her previous owner provided and advertised for potion ingredients.”  
  
“Oh.” Harry didn’t know much about dragons, but… “Wouldn’t she feel better outside?”  
  
“We tried to get some preservationists to take her, but all of them denied.” Robok led them down the path by the wall, passing giant golden doors regularly. “The Romanians said that they would take her once they had enough resources, but they’ve been sending us reports on the state of their place for the past twenty years, and we’re not convinced that they’re ready to take her in as of yet.”  
  
That sounded… way nicer than the first thoughts Harry had had about the situation.  
  
“Why is she bound, though?”  
  
“It’s moreso jewelry rather than chains.”  
  
“Jewelry?”  
  
“She’s blind and the weight of the gold proves to be very comforting to her.” the goblin stopped in front of a door, although Harry couldn’t see any difference between it and the others they’d passed. “Here we are. Press your hand to the panel on the right and the door will open.”  
  
Harry did so, still managing to flinch in surprise when the door whooshed open. He soon forgot all about it when he noticed the contents of the room.  
  
There wasn’t any gold inside, but there was no doubt that it was all incredibly valuable, be it worth its weight in Galleons or simply holding sentimental value.  
  
Entering the vault, Harry had no idea where to go first: everything simply looked way too enticing.  
  
He ventured towards a stack holding hundreds of wands, spotting a portable wall with a plaque reading “Paintings” on it.  
  
Would those be magical portraits? Would he be able to talk to his ancestors?  
  
The first couple of pictures he saw made him stop dead in his tracks. Forgetting all about the teachers and the wills, he inched forward, barely even blinking.  
  
On the left hung a portrait of a man who looked just like Harry: identical dark skin, the same messed up hair, and even the glasses they wore were strikingly similar.  
  
The plaque on the frame said what Harry already knew: “James Fleamont Potter” with the dates of his birth and death underneath.  
  
On the right sat a woman whom Harry had never seen in his life, but he could guess who she was.  
  
His mother. Her red hair fell around her face, her mouth curved into a soft smile even as she was sleeping.  
  
Harry would give anything to be able to talk to them.  
  
Coming even closer, he outstretched his hand-  
  
“You can’t,” Professor Flitwick said, grabbing his arm. “Waking up a portrait releases incredible amounts of energy. If you did so in here, it would destroy everything else in the vault.”  
  
Nodding numbly, Harry dropped his arm.  
  
“Why haven’t they been woken up yet?” he asked.  
  
“There is no one who could do it. Other than you, there is no one else currently alive who can access this vault.”  
  
“We found the wills!” Professor McGonagall called out, waving at them to join the rest.  
  
Harry left the portraits reluctantly. The adults were gathered around a tiny table on which sat two globes. They could’ve been mistaken for marbles if not for the swirling blue lights inside them.  
  
But there was no parchment.  
  
“Where are they?” Harry asked.  
  
Professor Snape pointed at the marbles. “In the wizarding world, people store their wills in the form of a memory rather than writing it down.”  
  
“Oh.” Harry didn’t really understand what that meant.  
  
“Let’s get on with it,” Professor Flitwick said, taking out a piece of parchment and a quill capable of standing on its own. “The sooner we get this done, the better.”  
  
Robok took one of the globes and put it in a tiny bowl placed on the floor.  
  
A ghost emerged from inside of it, a bluish glow surrounding a person whom Harry would grow up to resemble.  
  
“James Fleamont Potter, born the twenty-seventh of March, 1960. This is my last will and testament,” the figure spoke.  
  
After that he started listing off a number of names Harry didn’t recognize, assigning them different amounts of money, personal belongings, or possessions.  
  
The quill dutifully noted everything, so Harry figured he didn’t have to try and remember it.  
  
After several minutes of that, the figure took a deep breath.  
  
“As for my son, Hari James Potter,” he said, sighing and rubbing his eyes, misplacing his glasses slightly. “If I die before he reaches the age of maturity, all parental rights are to be given to my partner, Lily J. Potter, née Evans. If it so happens that she also dies, I would wish for him to be placed with his godfather, Sirius Orion Black, and his partner, Remus John Lupin. If they, for any reason, can’t take him, I would wish for him to be placed with Frank Carl Longbottom and his partner Alice Heather Bell. So mote it be.”  
  
Silence fell over the vault.  
  
Harry wondered who all of those people were. Why could none of them take him in?  
  
“So those were his choices,” Professor Snape said eventually. “A convicted murderer, a Dark creature, and a couple currently acting like toddlers who live permanently in St. Mungo’s, even though he was aware at the time that they were also being targeted. Splendid.”  
  
“Severus!” Professor McGonagall admonished. “He couldn’t have known…”  
  
The only thing that Harry was sure of at the moment was that his father’s will didn’t provide him with any alternative to the Dursleys.  
  
There was still his mother’s though.  
  
Robok took the marble out of the bowl, and placed the other one inside it.  
  
A ghastly copy of Harry’s mother emerged.  
  
“Lily J. Potter, née Evans, born on the thirtieth of January, 1960,” she began with a soft smile, identical to the one she was sporting in the picture. “This is my last will and testament.”  
  
“I leave most of my possessions to my partner, James Fleamont Potter. If he was to die, divide them as per his will. The only exception would be the trunk stored somewhere in the family vault containing all of my potions journals. It has a plaque with the name of Severus Tobias Snape, to whom I’d like to leave it.”  
  
Harry glanced at Professor Snape who looked extremely surprised, going as far as to drop his arms from his trademark “folded with their thumbs up” position.  
  
“Sev, my old friend, I know you’ll think this is a bribe. It is. For what? You’ll know soon enough.”  
  
The woman - Harry’s mother, he still couldn’t believe he could see her speaking to him - brushed a wild strand of hair out of her face.  
  
“As for my son, Hari James Potter - Hari, my darling.” Harry could almost feel the love in her voice. “If I happen to die before he reaches the age of maturity and my partner James Fleamont Potter is unavailable, _under no circumstances is he to be placed with my sister, Petunia Francissa Dursley, née Evans!_ ”  
  
The scream took Harry by surprise.  
  
“My sister is unfit to raise my son for a multitude of reasons that I will not list here. I would wish for him to be placed with his godfather, Sirius Orion Black, and his partner, Remus John Lupin. If they are unavailable, I would wish for him to be placed with Frank Carl Longbottom and Alice Heather Bell.”  
  
So, the exact same people that his father had listed. But at least she objected to his placement at Aunt Petunia’s house…  
  
“However,” Lily continued after a deep sigh. “As there is a war going on, I recognize the dangers placed upon the people I nominated. And as Voldemort seems very determined to kill my son, I understand that additional protections are to be provided.”  
  
Or perhaps there was still a chance?  
  
“This is why if I die protecting him, let it be known that I will be invoking an ancient blood ritual that would offer him protection for as long as he lives with someone who shares our blood.”  
  
That meant Aunt Petunia. As far as Harry knew, there was no one else from their family, be it Muggle or magical. Didn’t the goblin say so?  
  
“That’s why for my last nomination, I choose Severus Tobias Snape for the periods of time that Harry doesn’t spend at school, for which he will receive compensation. No offense, Sev, but I don’t really fancy my son living on Spinner’s End - surely you understand. As for the period he spends at school, I’d like to nominate his Head of House as the secondary guardian. So mote it be.”  
  
Well. Harry did not expect that. But it didn’t sound bad, so-  
  
“Ah, one more thing!” the ghost of Lily said, flickering softly. “If we have died while under Fidelius, be it known that our Secret Keeper was Peter Jadeus Pettigrew. Sirius Orion Black served as a decoy and was in no way capable of betraying us. Oh! Also, Peter is an unregistered rat Animagus. Don’t believe he’s dead unless you have the majority of his body.”  
  
And with that, she retreated back to the marble.  
  
The silence somehow felt really loaded.  
  
“Are you telling me,” Professor McGonagall said in a dangerously low voice, “that Sirius Black spent a decade in Azkaban _for nothing_?!”  
  
“Let us not forget that the Headmaster knew that he was innocent,” Professor Snape added. “And yet, having all the power needed to free him, he did nothing?”  
  
“Whoa, that’s something I would have never expected _you_ of all people to say!” Professor Flitwick added. “With all that animosity between you and Black…”  
  
“Do not mistake my words, I detest him. But no one deserves to spend this long in Azkaban, especially not for something they had not even done.”  
  
“Alright, so we’ve got Sirius’s business to sort out,” Professor McGonagall said, visibly gathering herself together. “But why did Lily say that you’re a blood relative of her and Harry?”  
  
Professor Snape frowned. “I am not sure…”  
  
“I can confirm that this is true,” Robok piped in. “The blood tests I had you all do? They said you had an Oath of Blood with Lily Evans and therefore you are, in the eyes of magic, a blood relative of Harry Potter.”  
  
“Oh,” Professor Snape said.  
  
“But when did you take an Oath of Blood?” Professor McGonagall wondered.  
  
“At the beginning of our fifth year,” Professor Snape supplied. “Not long before our… falling out. I was not... aware that it was binding.”  
  
“Well, it definitely was.” Professor Flitwick rolled up his parchment and hid it, along with the quill, in one of his pockets. “So now both you and Minerva have some sort of a shared custody over Harry. This is going to be interesting.”  
  
“My mum said ‘Head of House,’” Harry said. “But what if I had been sorted into Slytherin? The Hat considered it.”  
  
“At the time that the will was made, I was not yet a Head of House,” Professor Snape said. “In fact, I was not even considering becoming a teacher. As far as she knew, that scenario was about as realistic as the Headmaster wearing some normal robes for once.”  
  
“What should we start with?” Professor McGonagall wondered. “There’s so much new information…”  
  
“If I may,” Robok said. “Lily Potter expressed belief that Peter Pettigrew might still be alive.”  
  
“Yes, but how are we supposed to find him?” Professor Snape said. “As a rat Animagus, he might be hiding literally anywhere!”  
  
Professor Flitwick and Robok exchanged a glance.  
  
“We have a way to locate him,” Robok said eventually. “It is rarely used, if ever, but I believe that this situation is dire enough…”  
  
“Well, what are we waiting for, then?” Professor McGonagall turned around, storming towards the exit. “We’ve got a rat to hunt!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, that was fun to write! Once more I'd like to thank Gemma for betaing - if that's what you'd call making my 2am ramblings into actual coherent sentences xD  
> Also a couple of announcements:  
> 1\. I'm going to slowly shift the posting schedule into a more regular one - next chapter will be posted next Tuesday, and every chapter after that will be posted on Wednesday  
> 2\. Speaking of the chapters - this Saturday I went to a write-in [[I forgot my laptop charger so no access to old chapters x'D but i got a cute notebook and set of coloured pens, so I count it as a success!]]  
> Anyway, what I meant to say is, I finally worked out the majority of the plot for this fic! So far I've been writing chapter to chapter, and honestly? It was making me quite anxious.  
> But now I have the first book covered in 12 chapters if everything goes according to the plan, and I also have an idea where I'm going with this, so I should be able to keep up with the weekly updates!  
> I'd appreciate if you kept suggesting your own ideas in the comments though - I might have the skeleton up and ready, but I'll need some meat to flesh it out xD  
> Also2!!  
> In the next chapter, another character is going to become a more prominent figure! Can you guess who's it going to be? :D
> 
> Hope you liked this chapter! :D


	5. CHAPTER 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pettigrew is being tracked down, some of Harry's health issues are being dealt with, and another person decides to take action against the Dursleys' and Dumbledore's blatant abuse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who started to post it, only to - for some unknown to me reason - stop in the middle and completely forget all about it? Yeah, this little dumbass. My apologies, everyone! But look on the bright side - less days will pass between now and the next chapter?  
> Also, last chance to guess who will become more active this chapter! Take a second to think, and you'll find out by the end of this chapter ^^  
> Well, without further ado, enjoy!

The hunting turned out to consist of waiting in the office while Robok and Professor Flitwick went to retrieve whatever it was that goblins used to locate someone.  
  
And while Professor Snape, McGonagall, and Harry sat on the slightly too small chairs, waiting impatiently for the news, Professor Flitwick and Robok made their way through the long corridors of the Gringotts Bank.  
  
After all, they couldn’t possibly keep such a sensitive instrument too close to the entrance in case some wizard caught wind of such a thing existing and made the bright decision to try and steal it.  
  
Passing several doors and staircases leading further and further into even more intricate pocket dimensions, they finally reached their destination: a plain looking bronze door with no additional security.  
  
If you counted being programmed to only allow those with goblin blood as not-secured, anyway.  
  
What made the long journey worth it laid behind that door: another pocket dimension filled to the brim with bookshelves, each and every one stuffed with documents.  
  
Documents containing sensitive information about every single one of the bank’s customers.  
  
Professor Flitwick and Robok entered the room, but stopped soon thereafter, coming to a halt in front of a old desk with an even older goblin sitting behind it.  
  
“Purpose?” the goblin croaked out, his voice rusted from disuse.  
  
“Location of a supposed-to-be-dead murderer.” Robok supplied.  
  
“Name?”  
  
“Peter Pettigrew.”  
  
The old goblin took a long scroll of parchment from a stack stored neatly to his left, reading through it surprisingly quickly.  
  
“Wait,” he said, standing up and walking off, disappearing between the shelves.  
  
He returned not even five minutes later, a file clutched in his hands.  
  
Slapping it down on the desk, he opened it and put on glasses which had been resting on a chain around his neck.  
  
Professor Flitwick glanced at the pages, but they seemed empty to him.  
  
“Status: Alive,” the goblin read dispassionately.  
  
“That confirms it.” Robok nodded. “In this case, we are allowed to inquire about his whereabouts.”  
  
“Location: Hogwarts.”  
  
Hearing that in the near-mechanical voice was an odd experience.  
  
“May we have a map?” Professor Flitwick asked. He wasn’t going to believe it until he found the rat. The nerve of that rat!  
  
The goblin somehow gave off an impression of sighing heavily despite not doing so. Reaching for a piece of parchment, he pressed it to the page in the file, whispering something harshly.  
  
A moment later Professor Flitwick held a map of Hogwarts in his hands, a cherry-colored dot announcing the presence of Peter Pettigrew somewhere inside what must’ve been the-.  
  
“Well,” he said, reluctant to swear. “I don’t think he’s legally allowed to reside inside Gryffindor Tower with all the children there.”  
  
Robok had no such qualms.  
  
***  
  
“Bad news, everyone,” Professor Flitwick said, entering the office empty-handed some time later.  
  
“You can’t find him?” Professor McGonagall asked.  
  
“We can.”  
  
“Where is he, then?” Professor Snape furrowed his brows.  
  
“Currently at Hogwarts,” Robok said, handing over a relatively small-scale map of the castle and its surroundings to Professor McGonagall. “In what I was informed to be the Gryffindor Tower.”  
  
No one said anything, digesting the news.  
  
“How the hell could he be in my tower?!” Professor McGonagall exclaimed, her accent getting a bit heavier. “With all my students?! Surely I would have noticed!”  
  
“Surely the _Headmaster_ must’ve noticed,” Professor Snape added.  
  
“Could he be hiding as somebody’s pet?” Harry asked.  
  
“He could be.” Professor Snape nodded. “But we have no way of knowing which of the students brought a rat as the animals are barely regulated, and what little regulations we _do_ have are not even enforced…”  
  
“No, I mean, Ron’s got a rat called Scabbers. He’s old and ugly and missing a finger.”  
  
The adults exchanged glances.  
  
“Well,” Professor McGonagall said, rolling up the parchment, minutely calmer. ”I believe we shall go and get that rat then. And then get Sirius out of Azkaban, somehow.”  
  
Professor Flitwick glanced at Robok. “Do you think he’d mind if Gringotts sued him for stealing goblin-made artifacts?”  
  
“Why would you do that?” Harry asked, taken aback. “Weren’t you planning to help him?”  
  
“If we sue him for that, we can take over his punishment,” Robok explained. “That will get him out of the hell-on-earth that wizards call prison and into our care, making the officials at the Ministry believe he’s far worse off.”  
  
“That sounds like a plan that might work,” Professor Snape nodded. “Is there anything that we can do to help?”  
  
“Retrieve the rat,” Robok said. “We’ll take care of the rest.”  
  
And with that, the only thing left for them to do at the bank was to exchange goodbyes and leave.  
  
***  
  
“That Robok guy was really nice,” Harry said once they were out in Diagon Alley.  
  
“...Robok?” Professor Flitwick paused putting on his gloves.  
  
“The goblin?”  
  
“Oh, but his name was Rolook!” Professor McGonagall said.  
  
“Merlin, I keep forgetting how bad your eyesight is,” Professor Snape added. “How about we go to an eye-healer since we are already in Diagon?”  
  
“After some lunch, I hope!”  
  
“Of course, Filius.”  
  
***  
  
Apparently ice cream was an appropriate meal to get for lunch in the wizarding world.  
  
Harry couldn’t really decide on one flavour since he’d never really had a choice before. Once he said so though, the owner - Fortescue was his name - charmed his bowl to change flavours with every bite, so it was pretty entertaining.  
  
The visit to the healer was much less pleasant.  
  
“This must be the worst eyesight I’ve ever seen!” Healer Daisy exclaimed for what must’ve been the fifth time already. “And those glasses? I’ve seen a lot of Muggle glasses, but this atrocity takes the cake for the worst pair in existence!”  
  
Harry sat patiently on the stool as she examined him, Professor Snape right next to him. The two of them were slightly glamoured for the trip, the magic obscuring Harry’s scar and Professor Snape’s general features.  
  
They had split up, with Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick going back to Hogwarts to apprehend Scabbers, or rather, the man who was pretending to be Scabbers.  
  
“What options do we have?” Professor Snape apparently had either lost his patience or decided that Healer Daisy had had enough time to inspect Harry.  
  
“Well, I mean, it’s a pretty strong defect,” Healer Daisy said, now going through a cabinet full of tiny vials. “So resetting it would take a lot. And i do mean _a lot_ , especially considering how small for his size the boy is.”  
  
“A lot?” Harry had no idea what she was talking about. A lot of money? He did have a full vault, so that wouldn’t be a problem. But why would she bring up his size?  
  
“Yeah, like, a full twenty-four.” The mental image of Healer Daisy popping a bubblegum bubble popped into Harry’s mind. It would have certainly fit her bright pink hair, that was for sure.  
  
“Twenty-four of what?”  
  
“Hours, Harry,” Professor Snape said. “You would be as good as blind for twenty-four hours during which your body recreated your eyes and their connections to the brain, prompted by a specific potion.”  
  
That didn’t sound enticing. “Would it hurt?”  
  
“If the potion is brewed properly, it should not.”  
  
“I can assure you that it’s the highest quality potion you’d be able to find!” Healer Daisy said, deciding on a vial. “The Potions Master who brewed it - I’m sure you’ll meet him when you go to Hogwarts, he’s a teacher there, I’ve heard - he’s considered one of the top five in the world and arguably the best one in Europe!”  
  
Harry glanced at the professor curiously, but he seemed to be surprised to hear that, if the furrow of his brows was anything to go by.  
  
“Yes, I am sure it will be adequate then,” he said distractedly. “Harry, do you wish to take the potion right now? It would be done by lunchtime tomorrow. Otherwise, you would need to wait for next weekend.”  
  
“Today’s good.” Harry shrugged. It wasn’t as if he had anything important to do. Save for the homework. But he’d still have half of Sunday to complete it, it’d be _fine_.  
  
Healer Daisy handed the potion vial to Harry, who, with only a very quick glance towards Professor Snape, drank it with little to no hesitation.  
  
“You’ve got a very brave son, sir!” Healer Daisy said, and Harry was incredibly glad he got to see Professor Snape’s flabbergasted expression before the potion rendered him blind.  
  
“Yes…” he heard the professor say. “Harry certainly is brave.”  
  
And then the world turned into a swirl of indiscernible colours.  
  
***  
  
After going back to Hogwarts, Severus escorted Harry to Professor McGonagall. They exchanged brief updates: the rat was handed over to them by Weasley the Younger with little to no argument on the basis that they were giving him a check up, and had already been taken back to Gringotts.  
  
From there, Minerva was the one who would take Harry to his dormitory, since Severus’s presence anywhere near the Gryffindor Tower would only raise questions and rumors.  
  
Before Severus could leave, Quirinus left the teachers’ lounge, a determined expression on his face as he made a beeline for the Potions Master.  
  
Sighing internally, he prepared himself for infuriating talk about some menial topic, unnecessarily prolonged by the stuttering.  
  
“Is it true what Minerva said?” Quirinus inquired, with surprisingly minimal stuttering. “About Potter? About how those Muggles treated him?”  
  
“If she told you that he was abused, then yes, that is correct,” Severus said, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. “But I fail to see what business it is of yours.”  
  
“Just surprised, that’s all. Thank you, Severus, do let me know if you need any help with that situation,” the man remarked, quickly walking away.  
  
_What a strange man_ , Severus thought, turning towards the dungeons and dismissing it as unimportant.  
  
***  
  
Once safely behind the doors of his office, Quirinus sat heavily in his chair, head in his hands.  
  
“I am not going to let that child suffer!” a voice from the back of his head hissed. “Lest he becomes as powerful as I did! Change of plans: we are staying in the castle, and we are making sure that Dumbledore goes down!”  
  
“But Master, what about the Philosopher’s Stone?” Quirinus asked, the stutter slightly more pronounced now that he was terrified out of his pants.  
  
“Scratch that, I’m already immortal, and you’re a decent vessel. We’ll work on the smell and face-on-the-back-of-the-head problem - until Yuletide Break, at the latest! - but our major project will be ensuring that the Potter child receives a childhood - or whatever remains of it - that will make him weak and pliable!”  
  
“As you wish, My Lord…”  
  
***  
  
The next week passed way too slowly for Harry’s tastes.  
  
On the outside, absolutely nothing had changed. No one was aware that he had new designated guardians now and that he wouldn’t go back to the Dursleys’ anymore. No one even knew about his eyes being healed!  
  
Although that last one was mostly intentional; Professor Snape had insisted on getting a pair of glasses identical to his old ones, only with no prescription, so that Dumbledore wouldn’t realize anything was amiss just yet.  
  
He attempted to talk to Professor Snape or Professor McGonagall - even to Professor Flitwick! - but they all seemed to be awfully busy recently.  
  
All three of them took to leaving the classroom immediately after the bell rang - sometimes even before! - and Harry somehow could never find them in their offices.  
  
He almost started to think that they’d changed their minds; that they no longer wanted to help him, no longer wanted to be his official guardians…  
  
But they wouldn’t have done that, right?  
  
Harry wasn’t sure, but experience told him it was pretty likely.  
  
Adults tended to give up easily if they figured out that the gains-to-expenses ratio wasn’t to their liking.  
  
By Friday, he was ready to just send them a letter thanking for what they’d done for him already but refusing anything else. He’d survived a decade with Aunt Petunia, he could survive another six summers.  
  
They always knew he was magical, how much worse could it possibly be?  
  
And with his official thanks, the adults would feel good about themselves and their efforts without actually doing anything difficult, and they could all go back to how it had been at the start of the year.  
  
He didn’t actually get a chance to do that, though.  
  
Professor Snape called out to him as soon as he entered the classroom. It was only a simple “stay after class, Mister Potter,” which didn’t tell anything to any other student but was incredibly important to Harry.  
  
Not having any idea whether the professor was going to tell him that nothing more was going to be done about his situation or if he had some good news to share, the lesson was pure torture.  
  
The only respite was the fact that after cooking three meals a day for the Dursleys since he’d been four, chopping, crushing, and mixing came to Harry really easily.  
  
He could immerse himself in the task completely, practicing the art of thinking about absolutely nothing but what he was cooking.  
  
On the downside, it made him really susceptible to Slytherins sabotaging the contents of his cauldron.  
  
His potion started bubbling dangerously, snapping him out of his trance. Having no idea what to do, he did what he would have done if that happened when he was cooking: he lowered the heat and put the next ingredient inside, stirring slowly.  
  
Finishing the last steps of the recipe, he resigned himself to simply handing in a messed-up potion even if he did reach a color close to the one he was supposed to.  
  
The bell rang, and everyone stirred to life, bottling their potions - or attempting to do so, in the case of some people, _cough_ Neville and Malfoy’s thugs _cough_ , who had somehow managed to get their end products to coagulate - and packing away their stuff.  
  
Finally the last person left, Harry was alone in the classroom with Professor Snape.  
  
“Your potion?” Professor Snape said, outstretching his hand.  
  
Harry glanced at his own hand, surprised to note that he was still clutching the little vial.  
  
Handing it over, he waited anxiously as for some reason Professor Snape decided it was the perfect time to examine it.  
  
Was this going to be his excuse? _You are not good at potions, so obviously I cannot take you in._?  
  
“You did not follow the recipe,” the professor said. “Why?”  
  
“It started bubbling, sir. The recipe didn’t say anything about that, and I didn’t know what to do, so I just… guessed?”  
  
“You _guessed_.”  
  
Harry flinched slightly. _Subtle science, exact art_... He didn’t think Professor Snape would be happy with that answer, but it was the truth.  
  
“Tell me what changes to the recipe you made.”  
  
“Well, after the potion started bubbling, I lowered the heat,” Harry said, shifting slightly. “Then I added the chopped nettles and stirred, um, eight times clockwise.”  
  
Professor Snape hummed softly, tilting the vial as if the sloshing of the potion was somehow capable of telling him anything.  
  
“Were you aware Mister Malfoy added frog’s spleen to your potion, which caused the discrepancy?”  
  
“Oh.” No, Harry was _not_ aware of that.  
  
On the other hand, how did _Professor Snape_ know?  
  
“And yet, you still produced a potion equal in quality to those of Mister Malfoy’s and Miss Granger’s.”  
  
Harry’s mind short-circuited.  
  
That… hadn’t happened before.  
  
“I… sir?”  
  
The professor was looking at him weirdly, as if he was some sort of specimen in a jar.  
  
“We will work with that later. For now, however,” he set the vial down with the rest of the students’, “I asked you to stay behind for a different reason.”  
  
Oh Merlin, the anxiety was eating him alive.  
  
“Meet me tomorrow in front of the main entrance, directly after breakfast.”  
  
Alright, that wasn’t what Harry had been expecting, but it was better than his ideas, so he wasn’t going to complain.  
  
“Where are we going, sir?” he asked instead.  
  
The professor suddenly looked as if someone had asked him to drink the three most butchered potions and smile afterwards.  
  
“You are going to meet your godfather,” he said eventually, and Harry could remember being very excited before the darkness encompassed him.


	6. chapter 6

Apparently, you could faint from too much excitement.  
  
He woke up a couple of hours later - he thanked Merlin that Potions had been his last class that day! - and found himself lying in the weirdly comfortable, crispy sheets of the Hospital Wing.  
  
Madam Pomfrey stayed around long enough to inform him that she was keeping him in the wing overnight before she gave him some dinner and disappeared back into her office.  
  
Having nothing better to do, he tried to focus on his homework - since he would be away for a big part of Saturday, and who knew what would happen?  
  
But every time he tried to read something or work on an essay, the buzzing in his head made it nearly impossible, turning his train of thought back to the ‘I’m meeting my godfather tomorrow!’ station.  
  
Sirius Black. His _godfather_.  
  
A person who could’ve been raising him instead of Aunt Petunia.  
  
_Could have been_ , had it not been for - if Harry understood what little information he’d put together from the professors’ talks - the rat, what was his name, Peter Pedigree?  
  
Suddenly Harry felt less guilty about stepping on Scabbers’s tail on one of the first days.  
  
How would it go? Would the man be disappointed in Harry for not knowing anything about his parents? For never even thinking about doing any pranks, like his father did? For not being as good of a student as his mother was?  
  
What sort of person would he be after having spent the past ten years in a prison that everyone seemed terrified of?  
  
_Only time will tell_ , he decided, giving up on his homework.  
  
But sadly for Harry, sleep had given up on _him_ , too.  
  
***  
  
“I should’ve given you a sleeping draught,” was the first thing Madam Pomfrey said to him when she saw him the next morning.  
  
Harry looked up from his Charms homework, which he had been doing since three o’clock that morning with relative success.  
  
“I’m not sure it would’ve helped much,” he offered, writing down the last line of his essay and rolling the parchment up. “Besides, I’m used to getting little to no sleep.”  
  
For some reason Madam Pomfrey looked like she was going to cry.  
  
Visibly gathering herself together, she set a hovering tray filled with Harry’s favourite breakfast food over his knees. How did she know what to get?  
  
“Make sure to finish it,” she said, waving her wand in a motion that Harry already knew meant she was using a diagnostic charm. “Severus told me that he's taking you to see someone first thing this morning, so you’ll need lots of energy!”  
  
Harry nodded eagerly, digging into the waffles and bacon. Having delicious food that he could actually eat and wasn’t expected to cook himself gave him an incredible feeling that he couldn’t quite identify.  
  
Professor Snape entered the Hospital Wing with a billow of his robes just as Harry was finishing his glass of milk.  
  
“Have you slept at all?” he said, his eyebrows rising high enough to disappear almost completely. “You look terrible.”  
  
“Thank you, sir, good morning to you too,” Harry replied, instantly horrified.  
  
He’d completely forgotten that getting no sleep loosened up his tongue quite a bit! Oh, he was going to be in so much trouble…  
  
Or so he thought. Professor Snape just smirked at him, looking at Harry kind of like how Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon looked at Dudley when he did something they deemed worthy of praise.  
  
“Ready to go?” the professor asked instead of commenting on Harry’s slip up.  
  
“Yes, sir!”  
  
Throwing away the duvet, he slid his legs down, standing up a bit wobbly after having spent so long lying down.  
  
“You are intending to go in your sleepwear?”  
  
Harry flushed, noticing his school clothes lying on a chair nearby. Gathering them in his arms, he left for the bathroom.  
  
Several minutes later he was changed and ready to go, literally buzzing with excitement.  
  
“You were too excited to sleep, were you not?” the professor asked, eyeing him with an expression weirdly close to concern.  
  
Harry only shrugged, but no one could even pretend that it wasn’t a confirmation.  
  
“I made a mistake in telling you where we’d be going.”  
  
“I mean, I would’ve probably spent the entire night worrying anyway if you didn’t.” Harry shrugged again. “If I had a choice, I would take knowing over not knowing any day.”  
  
Professor Snape’s expression grew serious, bordering on contemplative. Harry was already very confused by Professor Snape’s expressions that day, and it had barely even started.  
  
“Let us go, then,” he said, turning around with a billow of his cloak.  
  
Harry added “how do you make your clothes always do what you want?” to the list of questions he intended to eventually ask Professor Snape about, right after a long string of questions about his mother and other related matters.  
  
***  
  
The Goblin Hospital turned out to be accessible exclusively by going through Gringotts. From what little he managed to remember from Professor Binns’s standard lectures, that was completely understandable.  
  
Rolook took them to the reception, from where one of the nurses showed them the way to Sirius’s room.  
  
The hospital looked pretty much exactly like any other hospital Harry had been in; granted, he didn’t visit a lot of them, but he counted those that he'd seen on the telly.  
  
He wondered briefly how the goblins had managed to get Sirius out of the supposedly “worst place on Earth” in under a week but soon decided it was better not to think about it in case he jinxed it.  
  
Pausing before opening the door, he straightened his robes out nervously.  
  
“Do not fret,” Professor Snape said.  
  
“Wow, I feel better already,” Harry snapped back. Clasping a hand over his mouth, he added in a mumble, “I didn’t mean to say that.”  
  
“You did, and it is alright.” The man grabbed the handle. “Being nervous does that to a person. Although _why_ anyone would be this anxious to meet this dog is beyond my recognition.”  
  
“Do you know him?” Harry _really_ wanted to meet the man, but at the same time he kind of… didn’t?  
  
“We were in the same year at school,” Professor Snape said. “Different houses, though.”  
  
“Have you visited him in here yet?”  
  
“Not before now. Minerva and I were busy setting up a case with the goblins. I believe only Filius had the time to see him. And Lupin, of course, but that was a given.”  
  
Before Harry could ask any more questions, Professor Snape opened the door, motioning at him to enter.  
  
The room was the standard size for goblins, which meant that the magically enlarged bed capable of holding a grown wizard stuck out like a sore thumb.  
  
The man lying on it looked as if someone had taken a skeleton from one of those Halloween displays at the shops, put it in some sort of skin suit, and stuck a long-haired wig tangled beyond recognition on top of it.  
  
Next to the bed sat a man considerably better kept, although he also wasn’t that far from being malnourished, but even though his clothes were clean, they were still rather close to falling apart at the seams.  
  
Looking up from a book he was reading, the man - Harry guessed it was that Remus Lupin Professor Snape had mentioned - seemed very confused to see them.  
  
“Lupin.” Professor Snape nodded sharply. Harry decided that the best course of action was to hide behind the teacher, clutching at his coat.  
  
“Snape.” Lupin responded with a similarly jerky nod, shifting his gaze from Professor Snape to Harry. “And Snape Junior, I presume?”  
  
The choked gasp from the direction of the bed alerted them to the fact that Sirius Black was now awake.  
  
“Remy!” he rasped out in a voice that was most likely painful to produce and definitely painful to hear. “That’s Harry!”  
  
Lupin only stared at him blankly.  
  
“Harry _Potter_ ,” Professor Snape drawled, seemingly unaffected. That eye-healer last week had probably made him immune to people assuming that Harry was his son.  
  
Dawning realization appeared on Lupin’s face.  
  
“Oh,” he said, putting away his book. “Oh! I had no idea… hello, Harry.”  
  
“Hello,” Harry responded, not looking out from behind Professor Snape. He’d already made eye contact with the man before, he didn’t need to do it again, right?  
  
“Harry, honestly.” Professor Snape sighed, stepping away. “I have no idea why you are so shy all of a sudden.”  
  
Harry could feel a sarcastic remark coming up, but Sirius managed to beat him to it.  
  
“Maybe it’s because you told him that Remy’s a werewolf, Snivellus!” he snapped.  
  
Harry, Professor Snape, and Lupin stiffened, although because of different reasons.  
  
“A werewolf?” Harry gasped, immediately hiding back behind Professor Snape, who now had his fingers squeezing the bridge of his nose.  
  
“First, Harry, werewolves are basically harmless if it is not the full moon, and I can assure you that there is at least a week before the next one.”  
  
Harry relaxed slightly. If Professor Snape said that Lupin was safe…  
  
“Second, Black, do you believe this to be some sort of competition? ‘Who can out Lupin more times?' I am sure you will be happy to hear that with the current count of two to zero, you are winning.”  
  
His godfather at least looked a bit ashamed of himself. Although Harry did wonder when the first time was that he’d told someone about Lupin.  
  
He made a mental note to never tell him any secrets though, just to be on the safe side.  
  
The moment of shame soon ended when Sirius’s face contorted with anger.  
  
“Well, maybe you haven’t told him about that, but I’m sure you’ve fed him lies about his father. You never did like him much, did you, Sni-?”  
  
“Would you stop with that juvenile nickname already?” Professor Snape sighed, but Harry could see that it was an act.  
  
Sirius sat up straighter, ready to badmouth Professor Snape some more. But before he could make a single sound, he slumped back over, instantly asleep.  
  
“I am _terribly_ sorry,” Lupin said, putting his wand in his sleeve; that looked like a terribly dangerous way of transporting it! What if it fell out?  
  
“In this particular instance I am willing to overlook it, since I do know firsthand what Azkaban does to a person.” Professor Snape folded his arms behind his back. “It is, however, not your place to apologize for that dog.”  
  
“Still,” the other man shrugged, “he should be out for around fifteen minutes, at most.”  
  
“We shall use this time to talk in peace, then.” Professor Snape waved his own wand, transfiguring something - Harry wasn’t sure what, exactly - into two more chairs near the bed.  
  
Although, to be frank, everything was near the bed in a room of such small size, and with the three chairs inside it felt even more cramped.  
  
The silence felt awkward. Harry squirmed in the chair: it might’ve been comfortable, but he certainly wasn’t.  
  
He kept searching his mind for a question to ask, but now that he had an actual chance to get a proper answer, he somehow couldn’t think of anything…  
  
“Lupin, tell the boy about your relation to his father,” Professor Snape said, sounding bored. “We haven’t got the whole day, and that would be as good a start as any.”  
  
Relief washed over Harry, allowing him to slump in the chair a bit more comfortably.  
  
“Well,” Lupin started, now with the entirety of the shared anxiety in the room transferred to him, “we were close friends in school. The four of us: your father, Sirius… Peter… and I, we called ourselves _Marauders_. Many joked that we were one person in four bodies…”  
  
Harry fidgeted with his fingers. He already knew all that! It was _all_ the teachers ever talked about.  
  
“Harry?” Professor Snape seemed to somehow notice his discomfort.  
  
“Is something wrong?” Lupin added.  
  
“It’s just…” Harry _really_ didn’t want to sound rude. “When I talked to the teachers, they always told me how smart my mum was and how much of a prankster dad was and how you were all _inseparable_ and stuff, but… no one ever tells me what my parents were _like_.”  
  
Lupin blinked slowly. “Oh.”  
  
A moment passed.  
  
“Well, James always spent _forever_ in the bathroom.” He offered eventually. “It was really annoying in the mornings, especially when he came out with his bedhead deliberately being even messier.”  
  
“Why would he do that?” Harry said, baffled.  
  
“He thought it was making him _cool_.”  
  
“Spoiler alert: it was not,” Professor Snape stage-whispered.  
  
Harry couldn’t help but giggle.  
  
“That’s so silly!” he said. “Who would want to have even _messier_ hair? I wish my hair were better behaved! Like Professor Snape’s!”  
  
“You might be the only one with such an opinion.”  
  
Turning his attention back to Lupin, Harry finally managed to find some questions. “What was his favourite food? Favourite color? Any quirks? Was he nice?”  
  
Lupin laughed loudly, but Harry didn’t think he was laughing _at_ him.  
  
“In order: Belgian waffles dunked in pumpkin juice, red and gold, he liked to mess up his hair even further during the day, and…” He hesitated slightly, shooting a glance at Professor Snape, who looked back at him, unimpressed, shrugging slightly.  
  
“He was… he was trying to be a good person,” Lupin said, for some reason looking as if he had aged ten years in the past second. “He made some mistakes, but… we all did, at the time.”  
  
There was something they weren’t telling him.  
  
“Professor?”  
  
“What Lupin said is essentially true.”  
  
“But?”  
  
The two men exchanged a glance, seeming to have temporarily forgotten about their less-than-warm relationship.  
  
“Yeah, I think Sirius’s waking up,” Lupin said, trying to change the subject.  
  
Sirius though, as was in his nature, did the contrary and stubbornly remained sleeping.  
  
“Harry,” Professor Snape slid off his chair and crouched next to him, “this is a very sensitive matter. If I promise to tell you all about it when we - both you _and_ me - are ready, will you curb your curiosity and not ask anyone else?”  
  
Harry fiddled with his fingers some more.  
  
“I’ll... try?” He offered hesitantly. “But I think I might know what it’s about.”  
  
The men exchanged a glance again.  
  
“You do?” Lupin asked.  
  
“I mean… I already talked to some of the teachers, and I learned quite a lot…”  
  
“Oh?” Professor Snape sat back down on his chair. “Do tell.”  
  
“Professor Sprout said that dad and you all used to prank Slytherins a lot _and_ that mum had a Slytherin friend. And Professor Binns said that he really disapproved of dad’s _obsession_ when my mum was brought up. And Professor Flitwick said you were ‘just the person we needed’ when I asked about mum...”  
  
“And what conclusions did you reach from that?”  
  
Harry took a deep breath. “That you were that Slytherin friend, and my dad _really_ hated you for that? Sir?”  
  
Professor Snape looked at him with that weird expression again, like Harry was a riddle he couldn’t solve.  
  
“You are correct,” he said.  
  
“And you were mean to me during that first lesson because I look exactly like my dad, and you thought I would behave like him, too.”  
  
“It seems I was completely wrong on that front: you may look like Potter, but inside you are a carbon copy of your mother.”  
  
Harry beamed, taking it as the compliment that it was intended to be.  
  
Sirius groaned, sitting up slowly.  
  
“What happened?” he slurred out. “I feel like that one time when Prewett hit my head instead of the Bludger.”  
  
“You were being very rude,” Lupin said with a smile way too sweet-looking to be real. “So I gave you fifteen minutes to cool your head.”  
  
“How about you just tell me about some of your pranks?” Harry interjected quickly, trying to avoid any more conflicts.  
  
That relatively clumsy misdirection somehow worked incredibly well. Thoroughly distracted and probably not remembering about Professor Snape sitting in the same room, Sirius divulged unto him stories from their Hogwarts years, the most of which Harry had already heard about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to get myself some reminders or something. I keep forgetting to upload the chapters on Wednesdays!! My apologies, everyone, I hope you liked this chapter! ^^


	7. CHAPTER 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Return to the Castle. Having dinner at a different time than usual can bring many changes. New friends are being made.

Two hours and a hearty meal later, Harry and Professor Snape returned to Hogwarts.  
  
Harry tried his best to conceal his pockets which were filled to the brim with different types of pastries the goblins had offered them.  
  
Apparently, goblins were great at both banking _and_ baking.  
  
Logically, he knew that there was no real reason why he would have needed to take any of it along.  
  
But the other, more basic, part of Harry reasoned that he could never be sure when he’d be forced to miss a meal.  
  
The way in which Professor Snape was pointedly avoiding looking anywhere near his pockets told him that the man could at least partially understand Harry’s need to be prepared.  
  
Harry was prepared to bolt immediately after stepping over the threshold of the castle, however, a bony hand clutching his shoulder prevented him from doing so.  
  
“One more thing before we part ways, Mister Potter.”  
  
“Yes, Professor?”  
  
“In private, if you will.”  
  
Harry had a _very_ bad feeling about that, but still, he followed the man obediently. It wouldn’t do to argue with a teacher.  
  
They went towards the dungeons; Harry’s best guess was that they were going to Professor Snape’s office.  
  
His hands felt way too clammy, but he didn’t dare wipe them in case Professor Snape noticed.  
  
Finally, they reached the Potions classroom, passed it, and instead stopped in front of the doors next to it.  
  
Professor Snape pointed his wand at the handle, murmuring something that Harry couldn’t hear. The door swung open easily, revealing a room covered in shelves, each of them filled with specimens.  
  
Motioning at Harry to enter, he followed behind, closing the door with another wave of his wand.  
  
“That was a silencing and anti-eavesdropping spell,” Professor Snape said, putting his wand away. “The door will still open for you.”  
  
That did make him feel better, though Harry hadn’t even noticed at first that he’d been worried about it.  
  
“What did you want to talk about, sir?”  
  
“Sit down,” The man went around his desk, kneeling next to a set of drawers, “and place the contents of your pockets on the desk, if you would.”  
  
Harry’s stomach sank. So much for _understanding_.  
  
Emptying his pockets, he briefly considered concealing some of the pastries, but eventually he decided against it. Professor Snape would probably notice, and who knew how he would react.  
  
The man in question stood up, turning to face both Harry and the desk, two boxes clutched in his arms.  
  
Setting them next to the pile of pastries, he took the top one - Harry was pretty sure it was empty - and started waving his wand around it, mumbling something incomprehensible.  
  
“Here,” he said a moment later, setting the box down, and, with a single swish of his wand, transferred all of the pastries inside it.  
  
Harry observed the process mournfully, regretting not eating some more of them. He was really looking forward to trying those newt-shaped cookies.  
  
When Professor Snape handed him the box, he just stared at him in confusion.  
  
“Sir?”  
  
“The charms will keep whatever you put inside fresh for a month,” the man said, putting away his wand and sitting down. “Although I do not recommend testing the maximum longevity.”  
  
Harry continued staring.  
  
“Well? What are you waiting for? Take it.”  
  
Taking the box mechanically, Harry cradled it in his arms.  
  
“T-thank you, sir,” he said, standing up.  
  
“That is not all I wanted to talk about with you.”  
  
Oh, great. What else had he managed to screw up? Did he say something wrong during the meeting?  
  
“Sir?”  
  
“I believe you wanted to know more about your mother?”  
  
In all the excitement, he’d completely forgotten about wanting to ask about her!  
  
“Yes, sir!” he said, sitting up a little bit straighter. “How did you know each other?”  
  
“Lily and I grew up a couple of streets away from one another. I was the one who told her she was a witch.”  
  
Harry didn’t know much about social interactions, but he was pretty sure going up to someone and telling them “You’re a witch!” wouldn’t be met with understanding.  
  
Imagining the indignancy on his mother’s face, he tried to cover up his snickers, failing miserably.  
  
A faint shadow of a smile appeared on Professor Snape’s face.  
  
“Yes,” he nodded, “admittedly, it could have been done with more… tact. In my defense, I was nine at the time.”  
  
“What was she like?”  
  
Professor Snape fidgeted with his hands, gaze stuck somewhere far, far away.  
  
“She was… kind. Brave. Willing to do anything for what she thought was right.”  
  
He went silent for a second, melancholy clear on his face.  
  
“Charms were always her strong suit, even before Hogwarts. She used to swing really high on swings, jump off, and gently float down, or make flowers bloom for her. Her parents - your grandparents, Henry and Heather - were delighted when she got her Hogwarts letter. The same could not be said about Petunia.”  
  
“Have you been to their house?”  
  
“I was a frequent guest before Hogwarts and during our first year.”  
  
Now, there was only one more burning hot question he had to have answered. “Which bedroom was my mum’s?”  
  
He hoped that it was the one he had been given when Aunt Petunia got scared of the Hogwarts letter.  
  
It would really suck if Dudley had gotten that bedroom, or if it was the room Aunt Marge had used - Harry doubted it would’ve been the Master Bedroom.  
  
“Her window was foolishly situated near the wooden roof above the terrace. She used to climb out of it and sneak out at all times of the day and night, to the annoyance of virtually everyone.”  
  
Waaaait a second, there was no terrace at Privet Drive, yet alone a roofed one. What was Professor Snape even talking about?  
  
Some of the confusion must’ve shown up on his face.  
  
“We both lived in Cokeworth,” Professor Snape said. “Well, I still do. Petunia… She left her family home as soon as she could.”  
  
Oh. That explained _a lot_. Harry was kiiiind of relieved. Of course, he would’ve liked to be able to go to the room she had lived in, try and connect with her somehow, but on the other hand, at least Aunt Petunia didn’t have the chance to destroy it.  
  
“I could…” Professor Snape sounded very hesitant for some reason. “I could take you there over the winter break, if you’d like.”  
  
“Isn’t there someone else living there?” Why would a house just stay empty for _years_? It would’ve been completely overgrown and destroyed inside, wouldn’t it?  
  
“The current inhabitants will not be… opposed to your visit.” Professor Snape still had that weird expression on his face, kind of like he was in pain.  
  
“If they’re okay with it, I’d love to go visit!”  
  
A moment of silence passed as Professor Snape simply nodded in acknowledgement.  
  
“Now, I know you have many other questions. I will do my best to answer them all.”  
  
And he did. Professor Snape patiently answered every question Harry had, the full dozens of them, only drawing the line at dinnertime.  
  
Which was, in Professor Snape’s opinion, six in the evening. Harry didn’t even know they served it so early! Everyone in the Gryffindor Tower usually left no earlier than half past seven.  
  
Although judging by the mostly filled Slytherin table - and the groups of older students at the Ravenclaw’s and Hufflepuff’s - it seemed that their house was the only one who en masse procrastinated on getting dinner.  
  
Understandably, the Gryffindor table was empty. Harry didn’t really fancy sitting there all by himself.  
  
He’d already spent a couple of minutes standing in the entrance, but no one paid him any attention; not yet, at least. Taking his time to look around, Harry finally managed to spot a familiar face.  
  
Maybe not exactly a _friendly_ face, but it was a start.  
  
Besides, Malfoy had wanted to be his friend when they'd met at Madam Malkin’s and on the Hogwarts Express. Surely he wouldn’t mind if Harry joined him for dinner? He also seemed quite alone, the only first year at the table filled with older students, not even Crabbe and Goyle to keep him company.  
  
Making up his mind, Harry walked straight to the Slytherin table, sitting next to Malfoy.  
  
The boy glanced at him briefly, focusing more on his dinner. Half a second later, when his brain registered that it was Harry Bloody Potter sitting next to him, he whipped his head back around.  
  
“Are you lost, Potter?” he sneered, trying to school his expression into something more befitting a person of his position. Well, a person of the position he _believed_ he had.  
  
“Nope,” Harry replied cheerfully, loading his plate. Slytherins seemed to have completely different dishes! Maybe he would wander off to their table more often, they all looked delicious.  
  
Malfoy blinked at him. “What are you doing here, then?”  
  
“Eating.”  
  
“Don’t mind him,” one of the older students said, not even raising her head from a book she’d been reading. “He came over for breakfast last Saturday, too.”  
  
“And we just let him?” Malfoy sounded completely flabbergasted. It was pretty funny. Harry could understand why the Weasley Twins spent so much time pulling pranks if _that_ was a reaction they got often...  
  
“What can we do?” The girl shrugged, turning a page. “He’s the Boy Who Lived. It’s not like we can just throw him out.”  
  
That stopped Harry for a second. Swallowing what was already inside his mouth - he had to use a bit of pumpkin juice to help get it down - he turned to the girl.  
  
“Do you want me to leave?” he asked. “I can go, I didn’t want to intrude…”  
  
The girl just looked at Malfoy pointedly.  
  
“You can stay.” He sighed. “It’s not like you’re doing anything against the rules.”  
  
“Thanks!” Harry went straight back to his food. “Would you mind if I came over some other times, too? Your food is so different from what we’ve got!”  
  
“Really?” Malfoy craned his neck, trying to catch a glance at what dishes were on the currently completely empty Gryffindor table. “How so? I thought that the house-elves made the same dishes for everyone.”  
  
“House-elves?”  
  
“Yeah, you know, they clean and cook?” Malfoy waved his hand, like the topic wasn’t absolutely fascinating new wizarding knowledge. “So what dishes do you have?”  
  
Come to think of it, it probably wasn’t that to him.  
  
“For one thing, we’ve got far more potatoes and way less rice,” Harry said. “Everything’s way less spicy, too.”  
  
“That sounds boring,” Malfoy sneered.  
  
“Just because it’s not spicy doesn’t mean it’s not delicious!”  
  
“Whatever.” Shrugging, Malfoy drank the rest of his juice. “Ours is clearly superior. I doubt I would find your food tasty.”  
  
Harry spoke before his mind could list all the reasons why his sudden thought was a Bad Idea.  
  
“Then you would have no trouble coming over to eat at our table tomorrow, would you?”  
  
Malfoy froze halfway in standing up.  
  
“Pardon?”  
  
“I dare you to eat dinner at the Gryffindor table tomorrow,” Harry repeated. “You’ll taste what we’ve got, and we’ll see if your food is truly _superior_.”  
  
“Fine!” Malfoy huffed, standing up fully, and leaving with not a word more.  
  
Harry only realized what he had just done when the doors closed after the boy.  
  
Shrugging slightly, he went back to his food, missing the way that the older girl had abandoned her book to stare at him.  
  
***  
  
Going back to the tower, he still had at least an hour before anyone would go down for dinner and absolutely nothing to do.  
  
The only boy from his dormitory currently in the common room was Neville, and he seemed to be struggling through his homework.  
  
Come to think of it, wasn’t he a Longbottom? Did that mean that he was somehow related to the Alice and Frank who were mentioned? Harry would need to ask someone. Maybe Professor McGonagall or Professor Snape would know?  
  
But for now… Figuring that he had nothing better to do, Harry went to get his homework.  
  
“Hi, Neville,” he said, going over to the table. “Mind if I join you?”  
  
“Oh, hi, Harry!” Neville startled, leaving a big splotch of ink on his parchment. “Aw, shucks.”  
  
“Oh, sorry!” Great, now Harry just caused Neville to have to rewrite his essay, just great.  
  
“It’s alright.” Taking out something that looked like a common Muggle rubber, he pressed it to the splotch, absorbing the ink. “It happens all the time. Have you started on Transfiguration yet?”  
  
Harry set his books on the table, opening the Transfiguration textbook. Storing his essays in their respective subject’s books proved to be very effective.  
  
“I have, but I don’t exactly get what all the rules are talking about…”  
  
***  
  
An hour later, Harry had a finished Transfiguration essay as well as a new friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who finally updated on time? Never thought it would happen, to be honest.  
> @Apnepesia - finally got around to that "Goblin's love of baking" part, however briefly it is mentioned! xD
> 
> Next chapter is mostly written, featuring Draco taking up the "challenge" and their flying lesson - so far, at least. It went out of control a bit, so I might have to cut it at this xD It should be on time, if I don't forget again 
> 
> Well, then. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	8. CHAPTER 8

He’d almost forgotten about daring Malfoy to come eat at the Gryffindor table.  
  
Or, well, correction: he had completely forgotten about it until Malfoy actually came to their table.  
  
“And what are _you_ doing here?” Ron sneered from the other side of the table.  
  
It took Harry a second to realize that he was talking about someone behind him, rather than Harry himself. Easy mistake to make, since Ron for some inexplicable reason seemed to have been cross with Harry since last night.  
  
Another second passed before he remembered Malfoy.  
  
“Oh, hi!” he said, turning around. Scooting to the side, he patted the free bit of bench next to him. “Glad to see you here!”  
  
“Of course I’m here,” Malfoy said with a sneer of his own, but maintaining an air of superiority to go with it seemed a bit hard to do when he was simultaneously climbing onto the bench. “Malfoys keep their promises.”  
  
Harry wisely decided not to point out that it was a dare rather than a promise.  
  
“Here, try some of the jacket potatoes!” he said instead, passing the dish over to where an additional plate had appeared in order to accommodate the new arrival. “They’re really good!”  
  
The rest of the table was unusually quiet. Harry looked up, noticing all of them staring at him.  
  
“What?” he said, defensively.  
  
“You… you do realize that this is _Malfoy_ , right? A _Slytherin_?” Ron said, the emphasis making it clear that he had no idea which one of those was worse.  
  
“Yeah, so? Last I checked it wasn’t illegal to eat at a different table.”  
  
That made most of the others slowly restart their conversations, although Harry was pretty sure Malfoy would feature in them heavily.  
  
But Ron wouldn’t give up that easily.  
  
“It doesn’t mean he’s welcome here,” he grumpily said, crossing his arms. It was kind of weird to see him forget about his food.  
  
“Actually, Potter invited me yesterday,” Malfoy said, finishing loading his plate. “That means that I am, in fact, welcome.”  
  
“Mate, what were you thinking?” Ron turned to Harry now, who had froze with a fork halfway to his mouth.  
  
“I’m pretty sure I was thinking about how different the food at the Slytherin table is,” he said, popping a piece of chicken inside his mouth.  
  
“How do you even know about that?!”  
  
“I ate at theirs yesterday.” Harry shrugged. Why was it such a big deal?  
  
“Wha-!”  
  
“Mate, just drop it.” Seamus rolled his eyes at Ron. “So, Malfoy, heard the news? Upper years keep saying we’re gonna have flying lessons this week.”  
  
“What, you’re just going to talk to him?!”  
  
“That’s what we usually do during dinner, isn’t it?” Honestly, why was Ron so angry about it?  
  
Ron stood up, stomping off angrily. Deciding to talk about it with him sometime later, Harry turned back to Malfoy. He looked quite smug, but still in the range of normalcy.  
  
“What are we going to fly on?”  
  
***  
  
It turned out that wizards actually flew on brooms. And that Malfoy _loved_ jacket potatoes.  
  
***  
  
The first flying lesson was scheduled for Thursday, directly after lunch.  
  
Malfoy, who so far had stayed away from the Gryffindor table since the first time, decided to join them for breakfast.  
  
Ron, who hadn’t been speaking to Harry since Sunday’s dinner, immediately left the Great Hall, leaving his breakfast half-eaten. It seemed that upholding your principles required quite a lot of sacrifice.  
  
“How come you never get any owl-post?” Malfoy decided that that was a proper way to greet Harry as he was wiggling his way into the bit of free space he had next to him.  
  
“Who’s supposed to write to me?” Harry snorted, moving a bit. “My Aunt and Uncle are Muggles.”  
  
“Oh.” Malfoy furrowed his brows, loading up his plate. “What about the fanmail?”  
  
Um, what? Since when- oh. Right. He was considered a _celebrity_ in the wizarding world, as Professor Snape had so aptly put it during their first lesson.  
  
“I’ve never gotten a single piece of mail addressed to me, save for the Hogwarts letter,” Harry said, stuffing his face with bacon. Crispy, warm, perfect, and what was best: cooked by someone else.  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Yeah.” Harry shrugged. “Besides, wouldn’t they need my address to write to me?”  
  
“Owls don’t need addresses,” Neville said, broodingly stirring his porridge. Why was he even getting it if he seemed to not like it very much? “You only need the name of who you’re writing to.”  
  
“That seems pretty convenient.” Harry nodded in approval. “Maybe it’s just that no one thought to write, then?”  
  
Malfoy and Neville exchanged glances.  
  
“I wrote a letter when I was seven.” Malfoy shrugged, looking into his plate like it held all the answers in the world. Or tomato slices sprinkled with chives. He seemed to hate chives very much.  
  
“Me too,” Neville added. “Gran said I should. I bet a lot of people wrote to you.”  
  
Harry blinked at them.  
  
“I’ve honestly never gotten anything,” he said. “I’m so sorry, you must’ve felt awful when you didn’t get any response.”  
  
The moment got broken by the parliament of owls - Granger said once that a group of owls were called that, and Harry only remembered it because he found it funny - swooping down with their mail.  
  
Malfoy and Neville got packages. Harry didn’t.  
  
“Oh!” Neville dug out a glass marble full of white smoke. It kind of reminded Harry of his parents’ wills. Had Neville’s Gran died? Did they send him her will?  
  
“My condolences,” he said, just in case. “I’m sure that your grandma is happy, wherever she is.”  
  
Neville stared at him like he was crazy, ignoring the way the globe lit up with red.  
  
“Potter, what are you talking about?” Malfoy asked, looking just as perplexed.  
  
“Um…” His parents’ wills hadn’t glowed red… “What is it, then?”  
  
“It’s a child’s toy,” Neville said slowly. “A Remembrall, it glows red when you forget something.”  
  
“Why would you think it meant that his grandmother died?” Malfoy didn’t even look smug like he usually did when Harry didn’t know something; he just looked confused.  
  
“I thought it was her last will?” He offered hesitantly.  
  
“Why would they send her last will to me?” Neville put the glowing ball back in the packaging, hiding the entire bundle in his bag. “That’s silly. There would be an official reading at the Ministry-”  
  
“How do you even know what a last will looks like?” Malfoy interrupted. “I didn’t think Muggles could do that?”  
  
Harry didn’t know if he was allowed to tell them about the visit to Gringotts, but he was pretty sure that the answer was “no”.  
  
“Oh, look, it’s so late, I gotta go,” he said, grabbing a couple of bagels and running off.  
  
How long could you avoid a person you shared a dormitory with? At least Malfoy would be easier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a short one, since I'm in the middle of writing another project and am on a bit of a tight schedule there! Next week's will be longer, hope you liked it! ^^


	9. CHAPTER 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The flying lesson! And of course, the consequences of insubordination.

He successfully avoided running into either Malfoy or Neville right until the flying lesson. By then, he hoped that they would already have forgotten about the discussion they’d had at breakfast.  
  
To be completely sure, he managed to get to the field where the flying lessons were to take place just a couple of seconds before Madam Hooch came.  
  
“Well, what are you waiting for?” She barked before Harry could even catch his breath. “Everyone, stand by a broomstick. And be quick about it!”  
  
Harry found the nearest broomstick, quickly claiming it as his own. It was old, and some of the twigs were sticking out, but it seemed to be in relatively good condition. At least compared to the other school brooms.  
  
“Now, stick your hand over the broom and say _up!_ ”  
  
Everyone did so.  
  
Most of the brooms just tumbled around, but Harry’s shot right up. Malfoy’s and Neville’s seemed to be right on opposite ends of the spectrum: while Malfoy’s bucked high and eagerly, Neville’s stayed put on the ground.  
  
Maybe they could feel intent, like horses? Neville had seemed reluctant every time the boys had talked about flying that past week.  
  
And they talked about it _nearly constantly_ , Harry was honestly going crazy. Broomsticks this, Quidditch that, like there was nothing else to talk about.  
  
Next, Madam Hooch showed them how to mount the brooms, and checked everyone’s grip. Apparently, Malfoy had been holding his broom wrong for years now. That was going to be one heck of a bad habbit to get rid of.  
  
“Now, when I blow my whistle, kick off the ground.” Madam Hooch instructed them when all were seated properly. “Just a few feet up, and then straight back down by leaning down _slightly_. Three, two-”  
  
Neville started violently, shooting straight up, like those videos of spaceships they sometimes showed on the telly.  
  
Well, that was definitely more than “few” feet up.  
  
Holding on to a broom going straight up was apparently just as hard as it sounded, and soon Neville was falling towards the ground, landing with a loud crack.  
  
The broom continued upwards, but was now drifting towards the Forbidden Forest. Did it have a conscience? Would it now live as a wild broom?  
  
Madam Hooch looked as pale as Neville did now, running towards where he laid in the grass, immobile.  
  
Harry could remember one time when Neville told them how his uncle - Augie-something - once tried to _awaken_ his magic by throwing him down the stairs.  
  
And pushing him off a branch.  
  
And out of a window.  
  
Come to think of it, Neville got thrown out of a lot of often highly situated places. A drop from a broom, from this kind of height, couldn’t have been anything too bad.  
  
“He’s unconscious!” Madam Hooch yelled, shattering Harry’s train of thought. “None of you move a single muscle while I’m taking him to the infirmary! Touch the brooms and you’ll be out of Hogwarts faster than you can say _Quidditch_!”  
  
Taking Neville into her arms, she tottered over to the castle, disappearing inside.  
  
“Oh. My. God,” Malfoy said.  
  
“Shut up, Malfoy,” said Parvati Patil, although Harry suspected it was more of a reflex at that point; both because of the shit Malfoy tended to spout at random intervals, and because the Gryffindor boys had no idea when to stop talking when it came to brooms and Quidditch.  
  
“What, sticking up for Longbottom?” Pansy Parkinson responded, most likely out of a reflex as well. That Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry was pretty ridiculous, and they were barely a month into their first year!  
  
“Look!” Malfoy darted forward, picking something vaguely translucent up from between the grass blades. “It’s that Remembrall Longbottom got this morning!”  
  
He raised his hand, the marble glittering in the sun.  
  
“Give that here, Malfoy,” Harry said. He had a bad feeling about all of this. Kind of like all of those times Dudley had taunted him or some of the other students.  
  
“How about I leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find?” Malfoy smiled in a way that spelled trouble. “Maybe… up in a tree?”  
  
“Give it here!” Harry yelled, but it was already too late. Malfoy took off, flying just as well as his boistering said, hovering slightly above the nearby oak tree.  
  
Harry knew he shouldn’t do that. It would be way better if he stayed on the ground, maybe even let Malfoy get caught by one of the teachers.  
  
But on the other hand…  
  
He grabbed a broom.  
  
“No!” shouted Granger; he’d kind of expected her to. She was always a stickler for the rules. “Madam Hooch told us not to move! You’ll get us all in trouble!”  
  
Harry mounted his broom, kicking off the ground, soaring high and fast.  
  
Adrenaline shot through his veins, blood pulsed in his ears, and in that instant, for a single moment, he was truly, utterly happy.  
  
Maneuvering the broom with what could only be ingrained reflex - as he had been taught no more than how to sit on it - he turned sharply and floated towards Malfoy.  
  
He looked stunned for some weird reason.  
  
“Give the ball here, Malfoy,” he said with more bravado than what he was feeling, fueling it with the happiness of the flight rather than courage. “Or I’ll knock you off your broom.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” Malfoy tried to sneer, but he couldn’t quite paint over the worry.  
  
Harry grasped the broom with both hands, moving forward with incredible speed. Malfoy barely managed to steer away. Harry turned around, now in the same position that Malfoy had been in seconds ago.  
  
Some of the students below them clapped.  
  
“No Crabbe and no Goyle here, Malfoy,” Harry reminded him quietly. “Give me the ball.”  
  
Malfoy looked at him like he had just performed a proving of skills more appropriate for a highly skilled professional Quidditch player rather than a person who was sitting on a broom for the first time in their life.  
  
Oh, wait.  
  
“You want it? Then go get it!” Malfoy said, preparing to throw the ball.  
  
“I know that one!” Harry said before he could let go of the marble. “It’s what a Seeker does, isn’t it?”  
  
Malfoy froze. Harry did too, as he realized that he only knew about that because Malfoy was constantly boasting about how great of a Seeker he was going to be.  
  
Uh-oh. Now Malfoy would feel the need to _accept the challenge_ despite it not being a challenge.  
  
“Alright,” Malfoy said, a proud expression firmly on his face. Harry wanted to facepalm very very hard, but he feared he’d slip off the broom. “I’ll throw this up, and whichever one of us catches it first, he wins. The winner gets both the marble and the title of best Seeker between the first years!”  
  
He said that as if it was a valid title, good _Merlin_.  
  
“Fine,” Harry groaned. “Let’s just get it over with.”  
  
Malfoy threw the ball up, letting it pass by. Only then did he dive in pursuit.  
  
Harry followed him quickly, speeding past him, trying to catch up with the tiny ball.  
  
The wind whooshed past his ears, and he outstretched his arm, wary of the quickly disappearing distance between himself and the ground.  
  
He vaguely registered Malfoy stopping his descent somewhere above him, but he paid him little attention, focusing on the glass ball instead.  
  
Catching it seconds before it hit the ground, he dropped the broom, tumbling to the ground. He knew how to take a fall like this.  
  
“HARRY POTTER!” someone yelled.  
  
_Yes, that’s my name,_ he managed to think. What he said, was barely, “Uh-oh.”  
  
Professor McGonagall was running towards them at full speed, which was a lot faster than Harry had thought her capable of running.  
  
“Draco Malfoy!” she yelled a second later, spotting the other boy still hovering in the air, caught between the need to get on the ground and the desire to stay out of sight.  
  
He couldn’t have possibly succeeded at both, but he sure managed to fail at them both.  
  
“Never… in all my years at Hogwarts…” she said between the heavy breathing. Harry stumbled to his feet, still clutching the Remembrall. Malfoy finally landed next to him, throwing away the broom as if it was going to help him. “You could’ve been seriously hurt! How dare you!”  
  
Yay. He wondered what the Dursleys would say when they saw him on their doorstep barely a month into the school year? The only upside was that Malfoy was also involved.  
  
Come to think of it, he always preened about how important his father was. Surely he wouldn’t let his son get thrown out? And if Malfoy wasn’t expelled, then Harry Potter-  
  
Oh, wait, he was a celebrity here. Somehow, he always managed to forget that bit. They couldn’t really expel him, right?  
  
And even if they did, there were probably other schools willing to take him in if he paid enough. His vault’s savings seemed quite plentiful.  
  
Some students tried to defend them, both Gryffindors and Slytherins alike, although everyone sticking up for only one of them at a time, but Professor McGonagall shut them all down before they could finish a single sentence.  
  
“Mister Potter, Mister Malfoy, follow me,” she said curtly, turning around and marching straight back to the castle. Harry could still hear her mumbling curses under her breath.  
  
She led them up the stairs, through the Great Hall, and straight towards one of the unused corridors. Opening the doors to a classroom Harry had never been in before, which was empty save for Peeves - who vacated it eagerly after a single glare from Professor McGonagall - she told them to wait inside.  
  
“I’ll have to get Wood and Flint,” she murmured thoughtfully, leaving through the door. “And maybe- yes…”  
  
That didn’t sound good. Wood? That he could handle, the teachers used to break out sticks on him. But flint? Did she mean Flint as in the stone? Or maybe fire? Harry wasn’t sure, and honestly? He didn’t really want to know.  
  
“So,” Harry said, trying to distract both of them, but mostly himself, “guess we’re not getting expelled. Think we’re getting out on your father’s power, my fame, or some mixture of both?”  
  
“What?” Malfoy looked weirdly pale. Did he really think that they would have been expelled just for that? “We’re not getting expelled?”  
  
“Obviously.” Harry rolled his eyes. “Did you really think that they would expel the Boy Who Lived and the Malfoy family’s son for a bit of illegal flying?”  
  
“Oh, right.” Some color returned to Malfoy’s cheeks, but whether it was relief or embarrassment, Harry couldn’t tell. “But they will still have to punish us somehow.”  
  
“Like Professor McGonagall said, ‘Wood and Flint.’”  
  
Malfoy fell down, landing on the nearby chair.  
  
“We’re going to get _beaten_?”  
  
Harry shrugged. There were many things that they could do to them that weren’t exactly _beating_.  
  
It seemed pretty out of character for the Professor McGonagall he knew, but… to be fair, he’d never seen her when she was angry yet.  
  
The sound of many pairs of steps echoed in the corridor outside, and the door opened.  
  
Professor Snape stood in the threshold, and he looked absolutely _furious_.  
  
“Uh-oh!” Harry managed to voice before ducking under the nearest table.  
  
Or, rather, trying to do so.  
  
He froze in midair and gently floated down towards a chair next to Malfoy.  
  
“Mister Malfoy, Mister _Potter_ ,” he said. “Care to explain _what_ the two of you were _thinking_?”  
  
_Drop your head, think of nothing,_ Harry chanted inside his head, doing exactly that.  
  
“‘M sorry, Godfather,” Malfoy said, making Harry momentarily put his standard behaviour on hold in order to do something far more important: stare at Malfoy.  
  
But before he could comment, Professor McGonagall entered the room, slightly out of breath, two boys running behind her.  
  
“Severus, honestly!”  
  
“Do not tell me that you are not outraged!” Professor Snape turned to look at her. “They could have died!”  
  
“They could’ve, but what matters is that they didn’t! Let’s focus on what we came here to do!”  
  
Harry knew the drill. Standing up, he moved forward, kneeling with his back exposed to the teachers.  
  
“Shall I remove my shirt?” he asked, sneaking a peek at them.  
  
“Goodness gracious...” Professor McGonagall gasped, bringing a hand to her mouth.  
  
Professor Snape instead kneeled down next to Harry, bringing him up and into an embrace. That was an… unusual feeling.  
  
“Uhh… sir?” Harry had no idea what to do with his hands.  
  
“No one, _no one_ will hurt you while you’re in this castle,” Professor Snape murmured, tightening the hug.  
  
Finally, he let go but stayed kneeling. Harry turned his head, still trying to stare at Malfoy, who was now pouting.  
  
“I want a hug, too!” he said with a pout, folding his arms across his chest.  
  
Harry stood up, crossing the short distance between them and hugging the other boy.  
  
Or, well. Trying to? He wasn’t exactly sure how one was supposed to go about hugging another person. Were you just supposed to hold them like a bundle of laundry?  
  
“Thanks,” Malfoy said, with only a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “I meant my Godfather, but still.”  
  
“Oh.” Harry stepped back, dropping his arms.  
  
“Sooo…” one of the boys behind McGonagall said. “Why are _we_ here?”  
  
“Mister Wood, Mister Flint,” Professor McGonagall said, solving some of the mysteries Harry had regarding those words. “You are looking at your new Seekers.”  
  
“WHAT?” basically everyone said.  
  
“You heard me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as promised, this one is longer. It ends on a kind-of a cliffhanger, hope you guys don't mind ^^  
> It's been a couple of slow weeks there, so I'll have to catch up on the writing. I'm hoping I'll make it in time for next wednesday, but I might not be, so a heads-up in case I'm late!  
> Well, hope you enjoyed this one, and see y'all later ^^


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malfoy is being confusing and a discovery is being made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I do realize the last update was almost exactly four months ago. I do apologize for that. But now I'm back! With at least this chapter, but hopefully, the rest of the fic as well.  
> Thank you for your patience!  
> Enjoy :)

“Minerva, that is-”  
  
“Unfair?” Professor McGonagall interrupted with a cockily raised brow. “A Gryffindor and a Slytherin, you can’t say it’s unfair.”  
  
“Sweet Merlin.” Professor Snape raised his hands in exasperation, turning around.  
  
“Seekers?” Malfoy whispered softly.  
  
“But they’re first years!” the boy with the Slytherin crest said.  
  
“And they handled their brooms better than some of your current players.” Professor McGonagall looked pretty smug. “Believe me, normally I wouldn’t do this, but the last couple of years…”  
  
“I must agree.” It sounded like it physically hurt Professor Snape to say that. “But that is still not a reason to enroll two eleven-year-old boys into the school’s teams when they are not even allowed to keep their own brooms yet!”  
  
“I mean, we have had a couple of players who have borrowed team brooms to fly,” one of the boys - the Slytherin one - said. “That way we wouldn’t break any rules.”  
  
“See?” Professor McGonagall pointed to the student happily. “No troubles there. Admit it, you want to do this, too.”  
  
Professor Snape sighed but didn’t deny it; for him, that was almost a confirmation.  
  
“Umm.” Harry raised his hand slowly. “I don’t really know how to play Quidditch?”  
  
All eyes landed on him.  
  
“Mister Wood will explain the rules to you,” Professor McGonagall said.  
  
“Basically, all you need to do is what we did today: catch a small object before the other Seeker does,” Malfoy added.  
  
“Ah, thank you for reminding me of that, Mister Malfoy.” The voice of Professor McGonagall dropped, making Malfoy look even paler than he usually did. “There’s still the matter of your punishment.”  
  
Harry gulped. _They can’t expel you_ , he internally repeated to himself. _They just put you on the Quidditch team, they wouldn’t…_  
  
“Mister Flint, Mister Wood, if I am not mistaken, you practice independently from your team every morning before classes, correct?”  
  
The two older students nodded.  
  
“Perfect.” Professor McGonagall clasped her hands together. “In that case, this is your punishment: Mister Potter, Mister Malfoy, you are to join Mister Wood and Mister Flint in their morning training until the winter break.”  
  
Harry looked at her, shocked. That was their punishment for flying the brooms when they were without adult supervision? _More_ broom flying without adult supervision?  
  
He definitely wasn’t going to complain, and from the looks of it, Malfoy wasn’t going to either.  
  
“Do not tell anyone of your being admitted to the teams,” Professor Snape said. “And when asked about the punishment, tell them that you have morning detentions. We don’t want anyone to complain about you getting the positions before the tryouts even take place.”  
  
The boys both nodded.  
  
“You may go back to your classes now,” Professor McGonagall added. “Work out the details of your morning practice and which brooms you’ll be borrowing.”  
  
And with that, both of the teachers left the room.  
  
“We meet up at six, finish by seven-thirty,” Flint grumbled out.  
  
_Six_? Malfoy mouthed out, but he was clever enough not to actually say it.  
  
“We’ll go through the brooms tomorrow,” Wood added. “Don’t be late.”  
  
“Scram, now.”  
  
Neither Harry nor Malfoy had to be told twice.  
  
***  
  
Slytherins and Gryffindors shared no more classes that day.  
  
Harry hoped that he could talk with Malfoy at dinner - since they couldn’t tell anyone about what had really happened - but, to his disappointment, the boy was nowhere to be found.  
  
Mentally resigning himself to a lonely dinner, he didn’t notice the twin shadows creeping behind him until their owners sat themselves firmly on both sides of his person.  
  
“Well done,” George said quietly, thumping him on the back. “Wood told us; we’re on the team too, as Beaters.”  
  
“We’re definitely going to win that Quidditch cup this year!” Fred said, grinning wildly. “We haven’t won since Charlie left, but this year’s team is going to be brilliant!”  
  
“There’s nothing but rumors going around about your flying lesson,” George started filling up a nearby plate, “so you must’ve made quite an impression.”  
  
“Flint was almost skipping when he told us!” Fred nodded, getting an entire jug of pumpkin juice.  
  
“Anyway, we’ve got to get going, Lee Jordan reckons he’s found a new secret passageway out of the school.” The two of them stood up, maneuvering carefully as to not spill their juice or food.  
  
“Bet it’s that one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy we found in our first week.” Fred snickered.  
  
“See ya!” they said in unison, leaving quickly, before any of the teachers could get around to questioning them about the food that they were taking.  
  
Harry followed their departure with his gaze. A moment later he was quite glad that he did, as he spotted Malfoy entering the Great Hall.  
  
The blond looked around the tables, looking a bit disappointed after spotting Harry.  
  
A smile - which Harry wasn’t even sure about when it had appeared - slowly slid off his face, leaving confusion in its wake.  
  
He hadn’t done or said anything to insult Malfoy recently, had he?  
  
Malfoy seemed to brace himself before moving towards the Gryffindor table, flanked by Parkinson and Zabini instead of his standard set of Crabbe and Goyle.  
  
That was... unusual, to say the least.  
  
“I challenge you to a Wizard’s duel,” Malfoy said as soon as he got within Harry’s hearing range. “Tonight, at midnight, in the Trophy Room; wands only. I will have Pansy and Blaise with me, and you may bring two people as well.”  
  
Harry blinked. Malfoy was already turning around, ready to leave.  
  
“What?” Harry said. “But… why?”  
  
“To make up for the disgrace of losing our previous contest,” Malfoy said without looking at him.  
  
And then he just left, followed by the two other Slytherins.  
  
Harry could only sit there, flabbergasted, staring at their retreating backs.  
  
“Hi, Harry.” Neville appeared suddenly, sliding into a seat next to him. “What did Malfoy want?”  
  
Harry got as far as opening his mouth before realizing that he couldn’t find his voice.  
  
“Malfoy just dared him to a Wizard’s duel,” Granger piped in from the opposite side of the table. “At midnight! Can you imagine how many points you could lose if you were caught? I hope you’re smart enough not to go.”  
  
“Oh, but I ought to.” Harry finally managed to speak. “It wouldn’t be fair to Malfoy if I just decided not to show up. It must be important to him for some reason. He said I can bring two people; wanna come with me?”  
  
Both Neville and Granger stared at him as if he had suddenly grown an extra head at the back of his own.  
  
“I’m really bad at magic,” Neville said.  
  
“You don’t even know me,” Granger added.  
  
“So what?” Harry shrugged. “You already know about the duel, and I don’t know that many people to begin with.”  
  
Granger frowned.  
  
“I am not going to break school rules!” she hissed, standing up and stomping away.  
  
“Neville?” Harry turned to the boy. “Oh, wait, you were in the Hospital Wing, weren’t you? How are you feeling?”  
  
“I’m fine.” Neville turned back to his food. “I’ll go with you.”  
  
Harry grinned. “Thanks!”  
  
***  
  
Waiting was the worst part.  
  
Harry waited until all the other boys were asleep before sliding into Neville’s bed, the two of them trying to find some useful spells in their Charms textbook.  
  
“Eleven-thirty,” Neville said eventually once his _Tempus_ alarm sounded. “We’d better get going.”  
  
They put on their bathrobes - it was cold in the castle even during the day, yet alone at night! - made sure that they had their wands, and slowly made their way out of their dormitory and into the Gryffindor common room.  
  
The fireplace was already almost extinguished, just a few embers still glowing within the heat.  
  
They'd almost gotten to the portrait hole when a voice sounded from the chair closest to where they stood.  
  
“I can’t believe you’re actually going to do this.”  
  
A lamp flickered on. Hermione Granger sat there, wearing a bathrobe and a frown.  
  
“You can still come with us.” Harry shrugged, getting back on track. Neville took a little bit longer to follow him.  
  
“I almost went to the prefect!” Hermione stood up, following them through the hole, never shutting up. “He would have put a stop to this! This is so silly, why would you endanger our house like this? You’re going to lose all the points I got today for knowing about Switching Spells!”  
  
Harry stopped without warning, both Neville and Hermione crashing into him.  
  
“Are you going to walk us to the Trophy Room?” He raised a single eyebrow. “Because if you are, I’d ask you to remain quiet.”  
  
“Of course not!” she scoffed. “I’m-”  
  
She cut herself off as she caught sight of the empty painting behind them. The Fat Lady was gone, and without her, no one could get into Gryffindor Tower.  
  
“I guess I am coming with you,” Hermione said quietly, all the fight going out of her. “At least if we get caught I’ll be able to say that I tried to stop you.”  
  
“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Harry shrugged, starting walking again.  
  
“Or, rather, wander the halls at night,” Neville murmured.  
  
They kept walking, in fear of finding Filch or Mrs. Norris at every turn. Fortunately, the Trophy Room was on the third floor, not that far away from their tower.  
  
Malfoy, Parkinson, and Zabini were already there.  
  
The moonlight shone across the crystal trophy cases, the multitude of trinkets shimmering as Harry, Neville, and Hermione piled into the room, closing the door behind them.  
  
“Malfoy.” Harry nodded his head.  
  
“Potter.” Malfoy responded in kind.  
  
But before either of them could say anything more, steps sounded in the corridor outside the door.  
  
“Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner.”  
  
Filch _and_ Mrs. Norris out there in the corridor, ready to bust them? It was more likely than you’d think!  
  
Harry blanched before making a run for it, grabbing wildly at whoever was the closest to him.  
  
They started running - Harry just hoped that the ones he didn’t manage to catch would follow him anyway - caring more about getting away quickly than making no noise.  
  
A suit of armour fell down somewhere behind them. Harry had a weird feeling that it was Neville who’d made it fall, but he didn’t have time to check.  
  
They ran as quickly as they could, turning sharply at corners. Harry was in the lead, even though he had no idea where they were or where they were going; other than _as far from Filch as possible,_ that is.  
  
Crashing into a tapestry, they found a hidden passage behind it, which led them somewhere near their Charms classroom.  
  
As it was miles away from the Trophy Room, Harry deemed the distance sufficient.  
  
Dropping the hands he was holding, he leaned on the wall, breathing heavily.  
  
“I think...” He panted out. “I think we lost them.”  
  
“You think?” Malfoy wheezed out from right behind him, making Harry turn around.  
  
He was sitting on the floor, seeming to have collapsed as soon as Harry had let go of his hand.  
  
The other person he was holding was Neville, now doubled over, spluttering. Behind him stood Hermione, clutching at the stitch in her chest.  
  
They had lost Parkinson and Zabini somewhere.  
  
“We’ve got to...” Neville gasped. “We’ve got to go back to the tower.”  
  
“Yeah.” Harry nodded. “And quickly.”  
  
“Wait!” Hermione caught her breath. “How did Filch know we would be there?”  
  
All eyes turned to Malfoy.  
  
“I didn’t do anything!” he said quickly, raising his hands in defense. “You think I would have shown up if I had tipped him off?”  
  
“That’s right.” Hermione frowned. “You’re not stupid enough to do that.”  
  
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”  
  
“Hermione?” Neville sounded timid. “Did you do it?”  
  
“No!” She denied. “I only… considered it…”  
  
“That doesn’t matter right now.” Harry cut them off. “We’ve gotta get back to our dormitories.”  
  
That silenced everyone.  
  
But with them being silent, something else just had to go wrong.  
  
A doorknob rattled, and from the classroom in front of them floated out the semi-transparent form of Peeves.  
  
Who literally squealed upon spotting them.  
  
“Shut up, Peeves!” Malfoy hissed.  
  
“Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties?” He cackled, completely ignoring the boy. “Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you’ll get caughty!”  
  
“Not if you don’t give us away,” Harry pleaded. “Please, Peeves.”  
  
“Hmm…” Peeves seemed to genuinely consider it. “I don’t know… I really should tell Filch, for your own good, you realize…”  
  
“Oh, shut up and let us pass!” Malfoy snapped.  
  
A giant mistake, as it soon turned out. Peeves took a deep breath, looking deeply offended.  
  
And then he started yelling.  
  
“STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!”  
  
Ducking under the ghost, the four of them ran for their lives, slamming into locked doors.  
  
“Oh no!” Neville said, trying to open the doors, but they wouldn’t budge.  
  
They could hear Filch’s footsteps as he was running towards the source of Peeves’s shouts.  
  
“Oh, move over,” Hermione snarled, grabbing the closest wand - Malfoy’s, as it was - and whispering _Alohomora_ at the lock.  
  
Something inside it clicked and the doors swung open, allowing them through.  
  
And not a moment too soon - as soon as they were safely behind the once again closed doors, Filch’s voice appeared in the corridor.  
  
They all pressed their ears against the wood, listening.  
  
“Which way did they go, Peeves?” he was saying. “Quick, tell me.”  
  
“Shan’t say nothing if you don’t say please,” Peeves sang-sung.  
  
“Peeves!”  
  
“Say _please_ first.”  
  
“Fine!” Filch scoffed. “Please.”  
  
“NOTHING! Ha-ha! Told you I wouldn’t say nothing if you didn’t say please!”  
  
And then Peeves whooshed away, leaving Filch to curse in rage. Not for long, though, as he left way sooner than they’d thought he would.  
  
“He thinks that the door is locked,” Hermione commented.  
  
“I think we’ll be okay now,” Harry added. “Would you stop that, Neville?”  
  
He turned around, quite annoyed at Neville for having been tugging on the sleeve of his bathrobe for the past minute, but as soon as he did, he could understand why he’d been doing that.  
  
Because the doors they had passed didn’t lead to a classroom.  
  
They led to a corridor.  
  
The forbidden corridor on the third floor.  
  
And now they’d gotten quite a close look as to why, exactly, it was forbidden.  
  
Three giant dog heads attached to a single giant dog body stared down at them, drooling excessively into a giant puddle at its feet.  
  
“Aaah!” Malfoy yelled, grabbing the doorknob before anyone else could even blink.  
  
They all left the room, snapping the door shut behind themselves, running wildly until they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady on the seventh floor.  
  
“Where on earth have you all been?” she asked, taking in their disheveled bathrobes and flushed, sweaty faces.  
  
“Never mind that!” Harry panted out. “Pig snout, pig snout!”  
  
The portrait swung forward, letting them inside the common room, where they promptly collapsed into the nearest armchairs.  
  
“Pig snout?” Malfoy was the first to say something, reminding them that he was still there.  
  
“Ah!” Neville yelped, almost falling over the arm of his chair, had Malfoy not grabbed the front of his bathrobe.  
  
“It’s not us who comes up with those.” Hermione shrugged.  
  
“ _Merlin_ , that was one giant Cerberus,” Malfoy thumped his head on the back of the armchair. “Dumbledore must’ve finally snapped, to keep a beast like that _inside_ the school! We’ve got the Forbidden Forest for a reason, haven’t we?”  
  
“Do any of you pay any attention to your surroundings at all?” Hermione looked between them. “Did you not see what it was standing on?”  
  
“The floor?” Harry suggested. “I was too busy with its heads to look at the floor.”  
  
“A trapdoor!” Hermione sounded exasperated. “It was standing on a trapdoor! It was obviously guarding something!”  
  
“Well, let’s _not_ find out what it was,” Neville mumbled, slumping in the armchair. “That’s one sentence I’m sure will not fall from your mouth, ever.”  
  
Malfoy sniggered, looking surprised that he did.  
  
“I hope you’re pleased with that _Wizard’s duel_ of yours.” Hermione stood up. “We could’ve all been killed - or, even worse, expelled! I’m going to bed. Goodnight.”  
  
And with that, she left, disappearing up the stairs.  
  
“Well, at least she’s got her priorities in order,” Malfoy said, his eyebrows raised high.  
  
“Now, what do we do with you?” Harry asked. “It’s not like you can just go back to your dormitory when Filch’s prowling around.”  
  
“What, are you suggesting that I stay with you tonight?” Malfoy, if it was even possible, looked more surprised than ever.  
  
“What other option is there?” Neville shrugged.  
  
“The beds are giant, anyway.” Harry added. “We could _Wingardium Leviosa_ Neville’s over to mine and make it into a sleepover.”  
  
“Or we can use an expansion charm,” Malfoy drawled.  
  
Harry shrugged. “Whatever, as long as we can go to sleep sometime soon.”  
  
***  
  
Later that night, when the three of them were lying in a single bed, Harry remembered something that he had wanted to know.  
  
“Malfoy?” he whispered in the general direction of the blond.  
  
“Mhm?” Malfoy mumbled back.  
  
“Why did you _actually_ challenge me to a duel?”  
  
A moment of silence followed, stretching far into the night. Harry almost thought that Malfoy wouldn’t answer, either pretending to be asleep or genuinely sleeping.  
  
“Slytherins didn’t like that I’d lost,” he said eventually. “They said it was no surprise that out of us two, you would be the better one. I wanted to prove them wrong.”  
  
“Huh,” Harry wasn’t sure what to say. “We can say that you won the duel?”  
  
“Without Pansy and Blaise?”  
  
“Would they go against your word?”  
  
“Hm…” Malfoy seemed to be genuinely considering it. “I suppose they wouldn’t.”  
  
Harry nodded, even though he knew that Malfoy wouldn’t be able to see it.  
  
And with his curiosity sated, he could finally drift off to sleep, hoping to catch at least a few hours of peace.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is the first HP fic I've got [in ready-to-post condition, at least]. Hope y'all liked it!
> 
> If you'd like to see more of badass Minerva McAwesome and Snape being an Actual Human Being, make sure to leave a comment!
> 
> [Leave one too if you've got an idea you'd like to see in one of the next chapters, and I'll make sure to include it in the letter, spirit, or both!]
> 
> [[Also, if you find any typo or grammar mistake, don't hesitate to point it out!]]
> 
> I can be found on tumblr under emilyelizabethfowl


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